To Protect and To Serve
by bendita15
Summary: When he earned his badge, Sasuke swore to protect and to serve his community. He never said he wouldn't do street art or an FBI agent.
1. Chapter 1

This story includes illegal activity such as tagging (spray-painting sides of buildings illegally), drug addictions, obstructing a police officer and some other things. There's also activity that could, to put it mildly, be considered "questionable" by law enforcement: a gay relationship between a police officer and a Special Agent In Charge (FBI agent of high standing. Just for clarification, every agent who goes into the FBI is a Special Agent, but there are different ranks of Special Agents). If an FBI agent is found to be gay, s/he is fired. If you don't believe me, please read A Special Agent: Gay and Inside the FBI by Lou Buttino and Frank Buttino. If a police officer is found to be gay s/he is sometimes demoted but almost always treated of lower status.  
I hate Britney Spears but her song "Everytime" is mentioned in the story because it fits. I like Enrique Iglesias and his song "Ring My Bells" fits certain parts of the story. I do not own the rights to either song and make no money off of mentioning them. LiveJournal is mentioned in this chapter and other chapters. I DO NOT OWN LIVEJOURNAL and do not make any money off of mentioning it. I do not own the book Graffiti Women and do not make any money from mentioning it.  
Don't sue me, I'm a college student financially dependant on someone else. I own nothing except the plot idea.

To Protect and To Serve  
-Sasuke-  
The spray can exploded when he was in the middle of his name. The pain was unbearable. A quarter of his head has been blown off. He remembered as they lifted him into the ambulance, always reading the warning on aerosol cans--CAUTION. CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE. DO NOT PUNCTURE OR INCINERATE and to keep them at certain temperatures. He had always wondered, dreaded what would happen in the can were placed near heat, fire or a sharp object. Now he knew.  
I no longer use spray cans because of that story. I no longer use street buildings as my canvas in the middle of the night because of what happened to this man. I don't even know him. His name was Zabuza or something. Wanted by the cops for AWD, 220 and tagging. He died in the ambulance. The thought that it could have been me made me give up street art. I draw it on blank sheets of paper sometimes, and then color my designs and put them on my walls in the condo. My fascination with street art or graffiti, for I used to do both, began when I was what, fourteen. I started tagging when I was nineteen and stopped after hearing of Zabuza's death three months later. I was faced with my own mortality when I heard it, that's all.  
I miss the adrenaline rush. I miss running at night, catching a spot and hearing the hiss of my paint. I miss admiring my work the next day. There was a constant anticipation of running into the police, or spraying over a gang's spot, or so many other things. I didn't want any of that to happen, so I anticipated it. I prepared myself for it. All that has been gone for years. Now, there's nothing. Don't become a graffiti artist, anyone. It's too risky.

How boring. I shut the book and log onto LiveJournal. Breakups, tattoos of people's names, acceptances into schools, the usual.  
-I need to get my mind off this. Anybody wanna fuck?-  
Three comments.  
-Ooh, you touch my tra-la-la.-  
-Yes, Chouji, but I'm not your type.-  
-Won't Kiba be offended?-  
-Since when are Kiba and Chouji fucking?- I type, then click 'post comment.' I'll have to return the book to the library tomorrow. I much prefer "Graffiti Women." It gives me ideas and educates me every time I read it. I've been thinking of switching to regular, not spray, paint. I've been tagging ever since I was nineteen and a half, and began drawing my designs on paper years before. I took a silver aerosol can to spray dark blue, thin paint onto a parking garage's wall. It's relaxing, very creative and artistic. I do it on my nights off, after visiting my dealer. The crystal meth helps lower my inhibitions. It makes me forget who I am, the fact that this is illegal, and I can just...go away for awhile. When the spray can is in my left hand, when darkness is the sky's cloak, when my veins are dancing with meth, I forget that my right hand is my dominant shooting hand and the promise I made when the bronze hunk of metal was fastened to my uniform, over my left breast, over my heart.  
"I promise to serve and to protect my community."  
My name is Sasuke. I recently made detective for Seattle's sex crimes unit, and that's all I'll ever tell you. I can't fuck up my chances. If they know what and who I do in my personal life, I'm finished. Gay cops are not treated nicely. I'm single, I don't use pornography and I never, ever talk about my personal life at work. Regardless, somebody could find out. Nobody in my department, not even my captain, would care. Other, more powerful people would. I'm not going to post an LJ entry tonight. There is nothing for me except my spray cans, Sharpies and memories of old boyfriends. There's so much misery in the world, but sometimes I think it's all here in Seattle. The things I see in my nine-to-five, five-days-a-week job, not including the overtime that is so common, nobody needs those images, that reality in their head. I face it every day. It's my duty to protect and to serve my community. I've wanted to work in law enforcement ever since I was sixteen. But I still tag at night. The first time I did it was to celebrate my entry into the force. It's illegal, but I still do meth and tag at night.


	2. Chapter 2

Warning: This chapter contains slight FBI-bashing and the torture of Muslims. I am strongly against torture of any kind, and it was mentioned to fit the story. Please don't hate or hurt me. Wow, this is a really controversial story...

-Naruto-

I have naturally blond hair and naturally bright, electric blue eyes, but not right now. I've dyed my hair black and haven't put it into spikes for weeks. I am wearing eye-color-changing contacts, so my eyes are dark brown. The contacts are intense. I'm undercover. What I can tell you is that right now my name is Naruto! I work for the FBI! I'm pretty proud of it. Some of the things that go on at work are things I don't agree with, things I wish didn't happen. I don't agree with the hiring policies of the FBI, nor some of the things that are said, but I'm here. It says that I, along with twenty percent of the others who applied for the FBI, went to the academy in Quantico (that's in Virginia) and passed the exhaustive background and psych checks...made it into a government agency. We work to protect America. Yes, the FBI has relatively little power compared to other government agencies, but...well, I have mixed emotions about my workplace in general. But it's a steady job, they move me sometimes which is always fun, I get lots of benefits and I'm paid well for an interpreter. That's right, I'm a Special Agent Linguist! I am formally fluent in two other languages besides English! It was really fun to learn to read, write and speak Farsi, and I grew up speaking, reading and writing a lot more Spanish than English.

Uh, I'm single. When I do date, it's totally behind the FBI's back 'cause I am homosexual and the FBI would fire my (super-cute) ass if they found out. Sorry...I drank coffee this morning. I like single-tall mochas, but they make me jittery and more talkative than usual. I drank coffee a lot at the academy, and for once, I WAS NOT DEAD-LAST. I made it! I've only been working this job for a few months and they moved me three times. I know how important my skills are and it makes me feel happy, needed. My work is my life right now. I was orphaned at a young age and my primary caretaker, Dadi, tells me not to ever talk about my work, but to focus on it and call her once a month. I wish she'd ask me to call her more often. Oh well. When she goes back to Trujillo (it's a city in a country called Peru), she's taking me. We'll only be there for a month, and I've always wanted to meet her family! They mostly refer to her by her full name, Caridad. They don't want to hear about my work either, but they're interested if I'm dating anyone new. In most parts of Peru, being a gay male is no problem. That's really rare in Latin America. Gay women in Peru, though, are seen as a very serious threat. I don't like that. I don't want to go to work today, which is why I am rambling so much. The case we're working on is emotionally tough. Yesterday, I had to watch as a Muslim woman was force-fed pork. I nearly threw up right then and there. It was horrible. When I got home, I cried.

But I'm the interpreter. I help people, which is my purpose. The FBI is a way to manifest it, and I like my job, especially moving a lot and getting a rush of adrenaline in really dangerous situations, like shootouts. My right hand is my dominant shooting hand, but I shoot equally well with both hands. It's an FBI requirement. I'm proud to say I'm a sure-shot. I'm happy but not always proud to say that I work for the FBI.


	3. Chapter 3

WARNING: OC. Don't worry, she's a main character of great importance.

-Sasuke-

"Buenas," I greet my partner over angrily jangling telephones, people howling over parking tickets and blue uniforms trying to calm them down. She looks me in the eye and says something I don't understand. 'Buenas' is short for 'Buenos dias,' or 'Buenas tardes,' literally, 'Good day,' or 'Good afternoon.' That, and 'Hola, que tal, como estas?'are the extent of my Spanish. "What?"  
"What's so good about today?" I raise an eyebrow. "We wrapped up the Mitchell case last week. Today's just the paperwork." She scowls. "I finished about three quarters of it this morning."  
"What time did you get here?" our captain grumbles, holding his head. Hangover. He struggles with alcoholism, like so many other police officers. It's an unfortunate stereotype, though, too. "Five thirty."  
"We start at nine," he almost moans, trudging toward his office. Kakashi knows that Soledad works too hard, and she knows he drinks too much. They respect each other greatly and get along well. Soledad is senior partner. She's been working sex crimes for three years. We have a lot in common and because of the nature of our work, I suppose the bond we have could be called trust. I pick up a pen and start going through files. Soledad and I are both skeptical, stoic, very good at our jobs and neither of us discuss our personal lives. Neither she nor I are too talkative around anyone anyway.

"Soledad?" She looks at me. Some people might call it an icy glare, but Soledad always has that expression on her face. I have rarely seen her smile. "How come you took two days off last week?"  
"Kakashi's been after me for five months to take a vacation. I hate taking time off, but I went to the funeral of a loved one of mine and grieved at home." To a normal person I would have said the standard 'sorry,' but Soledad is beyond that. "Who?" I don't miss the sadness in her eyes. "My radio partner." Her voice mirrors her body language--cool, collected, in control of herself. The man who was her partner as a patrol cop has died. She hasn't spoken of him since the first day I met her. He was by her side for three solid years. "You must have been close." She has a picture on her desk of him. Angel Gutierrez had brown hair, brown eyes and cocoa skin. Six feet tall and two hundred pounds, almost all muscle, with a smile to comfort and inspire the world. Soledad is in the photo, too. Her milk-white skin, piercing green eyes and dark brown hair, as well as her five-foot-two, hundred-and-fifteen pound frame (most of her weight is obviously in her chest) provides a stark contrast to Angel. She is smiling in the photo, beaming. Her head is on his chest and his arm is around her waist. Ever since I saw the photo, I wondered--"He was my boyfriend for five years. We were very professional at work and acted romantic at home."

"I've been wondering ever since I saw the photo." She nods, a simple downward move of her head, not twice like most people do. "We broke up amicably when I made detective and he made canine. No hard feelings. We still cared for each other." This is the most she's ever shared with me. I remain silent. Her pen scratches the papers before her, and her head is down. She's done talking, done sharing. I don't give a rat's ass about too many people, never have. But Soledad Reyes is different. She's the older sister I never had. I trust her. Nothing romantic, she's straight, I'm gay, she's Latina, I'm Japanese. She dates Latinos and I date Japanese or white guys. My parents were from Japan and died when I was a month old. Soledad's parents are from a town called Manizales. It's in Colombia, and everyone in that town has white skin, brown hair and brown eyes. She's considered tall for a woman, and is the standard of beauty in her country of ancestry--a little over five feet, big breasts and wide hips, a heart-shaped face and rare eyes. In my culture I'm feminine-looking. I have my mother's face, hands, and feet, and I'm slender, just like she was. I have my father's lack of curves, broad chest and stern, unsmiling expression. My parents were from Fukuoka. Unlike Soledad, I have never been to my country of ancestry. Soledad goes to Colombia twice a year, in the summer and winter. The paperwork, as always, is monotonous but necessary. It's been three hours. I think about Soledad a lot when something sad happens to her. So far, this is the second time. It could be called worry.

"Soledad, what does your name mean?"  
"Loneliness (or Solitude) Kings. Yours?"  
"I think Sasuke is just a name, after a very famous ninja. Uchiha is paper fan."  
"From feudal times, I'm guessing." She has not looked up from the paperwork. "Yeah. Does Angel mean 'angel'?"  
"Duh." Scribble, scribble. Whuff. She is shaking out a white cloth--a handkerchief. I've never seen her cry before. She didn't even cry when she got shot. She swore and I got a whole new education, but no tears. She cries silently. "Tell Kakashi I went on my lunch break." We have finished the paperwork.


	4. Chapter 4

-Naruto- "Good job on your assignment."  
"Thank you."  
My boss studies me. "What do you know about the MS-13?" I take a deep breath and rattle off information. I have studied them extensively, as many other FBI agents have. The Mara can be considered domestic terrorists, and I work within the FBI Terrorism Squad.  
"The Mara Salvatrucha-13, originally from El Salvador, is named after a street in Honduras and Thirteenth Street in Los Angeles, California. Its members are primarily El Salvadorian and Honduran. Many gang members enter their chapters with military experience gained in Honduras or El Salvador. America's chapters are much, much smaller than those in Honduras. Membership in Honduras is over thirty-six thousand and counting. In El Salvador, there are an estimated forty-one thousand members. The reason the MS-13 traipsed over to Honduras is because of new gang laws in El Salvador designed to eradicate the Mara. The gang members are notorious for their love of violence. Members are as typically young as eleven and as old as forty—old or young enough to begin or continue carrying assault rifles. Their initiation involves being beaten for thirteen seconds or thirteen minutes, either with or without weapons. Female members of the gang are frequently raped, mostly as part of their initiation—part of it includes being raped by the six strongest members of the gang. Murders and rape elevate one's status in the gang. The gang members wear blue and white, colors taken from the El Salvadorian flag. Tattoos of the number thirteen on the neck and a teardrop behind the thumb, near the index finger, are some marks indicating membership."

My hands shake slightly as I continue. "Their murder scenes are particularly gruesome and include but are not limited to complete dismemberments of bodies, meaning all limbs and the head. Threats and attacks on law enforcement officials are extremely common. We've only recently begun researching them and had a wide-scale raid and arrested many members in every state." Please, please don't say what I think you might. They're so dangerous. I can't do it. But if you want me to, I can't say no. I want to keep my job.

"Glad to know you've done your homework. There's a chapter here in Seattle and I'm putting you undercover. Where do you plan to move?"  
"The Spanish ghetto."  
"Good. I'm putting you in charge of this operation. The files are on your desk. When you have reviewed them, return to me for further details. You're excused." Two undercover assignments in a row. And holy SHIT I'm Special Agent In Charge! It's a promotion! It's wonderful! I take my lunch break and dance in the streets of Seattle, forgetting that I'll be involved with the most violent gang in the United States within a month. Nobody cares about my dancing. They are in their own worlds. I focus on the recognition my boss gave me and celebrate with three bowls of ramen, knowing how disappointed my nutritionist will be. Yeah, every agent has a person who monitors their diet. This is a very rigid job. They breathe down your neck! That's an understatement!

The files are pretty straightforward. My boss and I work out the details carefully, specifically. "Tsunade?" Yeah, we're on a first-name basis. Everyone is with her. Her attempts at familiarity do nothing to make her less scary or powerful. Seriously, she's becoming director in two months! "Yes?"  
"I have blond hair, blue eyes, tan skin and three scars on each side of my face. This gang has roots in El Salvador. How'm I going to blend in?"  
"Don't worry. You have all the skills you need for this operation."  
"Thank you. It's a great honor."  
She hands me an envelope. "Your normal paycheck, a slight raise and a reward."  
"Thank you."

I drive to the bank before it closes and explain to the teller that I want three-quarters of everything to be put into savings and one-quarter of it to be put into checking. She hands me the receipts and my eyes widen at the amount of the award. That was nice of Tsunade, but it also explains just how dangerous this operation will be--more than I ever imagined, and not in a good way.

"Kiba, I'm moving out." My landlord frowns. "I'll miss you, man. Where to?"  
"Los Angeles," I lie. "Here's what I owe you. I'll leave at the end of the month." The FBI, depending on the situation, gives agents two weeks to a month to leave. "Navy SEALS like you sure do get moved around a lot."  
"Yeah." I'll move to a new place and tell more lies. It's part of my job. I won't be moving too far away this time, though. Seattle is a very large city. "How are you and Chouji?"  
"Fine." We talk a bit more and then I move to depart. "Naruto."  
"Yes, Kiba."  
"Take care of yourself out there." Worry is etched into his face. "I will."

Another agent will go undercover with me. She's the Assistant Special Agent in Charge and her name is Hinata. It's being changed. Same as mine. We're both getting hair treatments—mine will be re-dyed since it's grown out a little and Hinata's getting extensions. Her hair is naturally black. I'm being re-supplied with eye color-changing contacts and she's getting her first ones. We'll both have dark brown eyes. Her eyes are normally…white. What's on her FBI ID? Did she list her eyes as blue? We tell the four other agents their duties and discuss ours, along with the risks, so everybody knows what they're getting into. I can't tell you the name of the operation, but it starts in a week. I am so nervous.


	5. Chapter 5

-Sasuke- "Are you crazy?"  
Soledad's hollering sounds very unprofessional. I can't tell what's going on in Kakashi's office because he's not yelling back at her. "Captain, with all due respect, that's a suicide mission! I know that Colombia's number one export to the United States is cocaine and El Salvador's number one export is illegal military weapons, but THAT DOESN'T MEAN WE'LL GET ALONG." She storms out of the office a few minutes later. "I'm being pulled for undercover work." Damn!  
"Come back with a sound mind and body."  
"I'll try."

"Sasuke. My office, now." Kakashi's mask has been a source of mystery and speculation for decades. I've never seen him without it. "What's Soledad doing?"  
"That's none of your concern. Sit down." I read the title of the book on his desk. The loud orange hurts my eyes. –Icha Icha Paradise- has been typed in Kanji. I wonder what the book is about. "You'll be without your partner for awhile, three months at most. In the meantime, you'll work with me. We will also be aided by Iruka Umino."  
"The captain of the Gang Unit? Why?"  
"He knows how gangs work, and he helped Soledad infiltrate one. A woman with ties to the Mara has been beaten by her boyfriend, a member of the gang, for years. She was recently raped. She says he did it and has repeatedly raped other women with ties to the gang's members here in Seattle." Each case here in the Sexual Assault/Child Abuse Unit is slightly more horrific than the last.  
"Who's the Mara?"  
"The MS-13."  
"Captain, I know very little about gangs."  
"Iruka will be here in ten minutes to explain them to you. Then we'll figure out how this is going to work."

I tag more than I usually do. I tag new designs whenever there's a new case, and Soledad's being pulled brings forth negative emotions in me, which lead to more tagging. My high helped me only briefly. I want more. If I start doing more I might become an addict or a hotshot. Neither of those can happen. I want to keep this job for the rest of my life and ignore the fact that I'm defecting and swerving my community. I pause in my tagging to roll my eyes at the memory of the old joke about dirty cops. The crescent moon provides me ample light to admire my tag. A dark-haired woman sucks on her index fingertip and smirks at those who might look at her. 'Wolf grrl' is scrawled as a tattoo into her calf. I tag feminine designs so I can be mistaken for a woman. I put the spray cans back in the bag and walk the six blocks to my apartment. It is dark and closed. I turn up the heat after turning the bedroom light on. It's a studio apartment.

I live within three blocks of the Spanish ghetto. South Seattle, so I've been told, is the poorest section of Seattle. I like it here, though. Soledad lives in the Spanish ghetto because she chooses to. She feels more at home, she says. I wonder where she's moved, if she's moved. What's it like to be part of MS-13? Iruka she won't have to kill anyone to get in, but she will be kicked and punched—beaten—for thirteen seconds as part of her initiation. Then, the six strongest members of the gang will rape her.

I walk into work the next morning irritable and grumpy from a night of sleeplessness and worry. Why did Kakashi send her on this mission?


	6. Chapter 6

-Naruto-

Hinata's a quiet woman. Smart as a whip and knows even more than I do about the MS-13 She can't speak Spanish and I'm not supposed to speak English, only to her, when we're around the gang members. My cover is that I'm an immigrant (legal!) from El Salvador trying to learn English and she's my girlfriend, an American-born El Salvadorian woman. I'm worried about my accent—it's Peruvian. Peru is far away from El Salvador. I'm worried that Hinata's skin is too pale and they'll suspect and kill us. Then I meet Rosario Septiembre de Jesus (Rosary September of Jesus) and stop worrying. She is pale, has green eyes and has roots in Manizales, Colombia. I think she's American-born. I'm not supposed to ask. She has a boyfriend who's a cop and he'll make sure none of us get arrested. That she even says so scares me shitless (not literally)! I'm reminded that this is really, really dangerous! It explains, though, how she got in without being raped. Hinata said the same story, but they still beat her up. She and Rosario fought for thirteen minutes to prove themselves to the gang. Rosario's boyfriend had to have taught her some moves. There's no way a civilian knows how to fight like that, with those police holds.

Some of the gang members ask her to buy drugs. She doesn't know how, she tells them. One of them punches and kicks her. He has a scar on his left arm near his hand. Her hands stay by her sides and she does nothing as blood oozes from her nose. She doesn't even cry. I want to yell at Scar-Arm. I can't. Rosario's a gang member. She'll be arrested and interrogated with the rest of them. She already has the tattoo of the teardrop behind her thumb, near her left index finger.

Hinata talks to her and looks at the tattoo closely. Two weeks have passed, but it feels like two years. "Rosario has a temporary tattoo. It's drawn on with what I would guess to be a light blue fine-tip Sharpie." The other agents and I can't hide our surprise. "How do you know?"  
"Rosario joined the gang the day before we did. Her tattoo appeared two days after we'd been initiated. Unless it was given to her in the middle of the night and her hand wrapped in a tourniquet, the tattoo would still be bleeding. She'd also have to wear gloves to protect her skin from sunlight for two weeks after getting the tattoo. It's a fake. She'll redo it next month, when all her skin cells have shed and the tattoo along with them. I'll check the progress of the tattoo as it fades."  
I'm so glad Hinata is the ASAC. "That's the most you've said in two weeks," one of the agents marvels. The rest of us laugh. "So, Rosario Septiembre de Jesus. Is she an informant for another unit?"  
"She has an unusual name," I remark. "I know people with the last name 'de Dios,' but not 'de Jesus.' "  
"Wait, Septiembre is part of her first name?"  
"Yeah, like the American name Mary Kate. Her story about her cop boyfriend, along with her not knowing how to buy drugs…either a kid looking for trouble or somebody in law enforcement. I could be wrong." I shrug. "She fights like a cop," Hinata mumbles around the ice pack on her face. The injuries Rosario inflicted upon her are healing well. It's been two weeks and her black eye has healed, her wrist is no longer broken and the bruises are gone. One of the gang members punched her today, though. "The tattoo still bothers me," an agent is pensive. We mumble in agreement.

I much prefer the streets of East Seattle, where I was stationed last time, to the streets here in South Seattle. The FBI has moved me all around Seattle, and they have kept their promise—rookies stay in Seattle for an entire year before they're moved to another city. If I get to choose my location after the year is up, I'll stay in Seattle. There's lots of narco-traffickers here. They'll give me work. The sky is a deep blue and the stars are off-white. The crescent moon looks gray. The explicit version "5 Letras" by Alexis y Fido blares from a nearby window. That song is really not appropriate for kids. It graphically describes sex acts, but only very fluent Spanish-speakers know exactly what type. No, I will not translate any of the slang for you. Under the reggaeton song that is so familiar to me, I hear a strange hissing sound and wonder if I've stepped too near a stray cat who doesn't like Spanish rap. No, there are no cats around. There it is again, along with the thudding of the music. I walk underneath a street light and a figure—a person—jumps in the darkness. I reach for my gun on my hip that isn't there, then the other one in my ankle holster that isn't there. Oh yeah, I'm undercover…in a very poor, crime-saturated part of Seattle, late at night, walking because I can't sleep. SHIT. I freeze, unsure of what to do. I walk out of the streetlight and closer to the person. In the darkness, it's more difficult to see a person. But I can see him. He looks to be about twenty-three and he's tagging too close to the spot Rosario did today. He's pale like Hinata and has dark eyes. His hair is under a black beanie. We can both hear the reggaeton music. He's almost dancing to it. Does he understand the words, what the singers are saying they're going to do? This song always makes me so horny... His hips move back and forth. The spray can hisses quietly. He's dancing to this song. I think he knows.

"Hey," I finally speak gruffly. He turns his head, spray can still aimed at the storefront. Dios mio, he's gorgeous. Thin, Japanese, tall and a nice ass. I look closer at his eyes. They're red-rimmed. He's high on something, glaring at me and holding a can of spray paint. I wish I had my gun! I'm undercover. He's waiting for me to talk, so I voice the only question in my mind.  
"Wanna fuck?"


	7. Chapter 7

WARNING: This chapter contains mentions of child prostitution, specifically differently-abled children who are forced into it. No details, just the phrase.  
-Sasuke-

-Earlier that night-  
I'm tagging. I've been catching more spots than usual, doing more meth and fucking myself over more as a consequence because of the misery at my work. Hatake said Soledad would be gone for three months at most. It's been two weeks. I work better with her. After pausing for a moment, I shake the can. The main colors I use are dark blue, black, gray, and more recently, white. White creates a richer color combination, a more stark contrast in my designs. If I tag on a dark-color building, I spray a white silhouette first, so the tag will show more clearly. My stomach clenches. Damn it, crystal methamphetamines are supposed to decrease appetite! I don't have very much money for food! The beginning of a headache fondles me. I have no time for a headache. The meth was supposed to help that, too! I have a shitty dealer for the next few days. The other one, my original one, decided to stare at stars for a few nights instead of the clouds he gazes at in the daytime. Lazy ass. I could arrest him if I wanted, and the shitty dealer too. Why does he wear sunglasses in Seattle? At night? I want my stomach to feel normal. I want the headache to go away. I'll stop whining.

Life is hard when there's no good meth to be found.

I squat down close to the ground, rummaging for the black paint. The white base of the design is larger than usual. It will show up. The apartment building walls hide tenants. The wall I am painting hides the tenant who decides to blast her (his?) music. I startle slightly, then quickly locate the can of black paint and start spraying. The music is called reggaeton, I think. Spanish rap with a...I'm unfamiliar with it. I won't slander it with an attempted description. Hiss. Footsteps. Hiss. No, there is no one around. It's late at night. The song continues, something about kings and dogs. I dance to it a little. My tag is almost done. I carefully tag 'Wolf-grrl' onto the woman's black fingernails. Done for the night. "Hey." Several curses in two different languages spring from my mind to my tonsils, but never out of my mouth. He could turn me in. I could lose my job. I haven't thought about my job yet tonight--I muse over it and my experiences when I am walking home. When I walk home from my activities, I try to justify my addiction and lifestyle. I never can. Night after night, I go to my dealer, then to a bare stretch of wall to try and forget myself. The minimum sentence for meth use here in Seattle is eight years. He looks nervous. Few inches shorter than me. Skinny Latino male, black spiky hair, dark brown eyes. Three deep scars on either sie of his face. He gropes his left hip, eyes growing wide.

I silently curse my addiction and tagging lifestyle as I realize he's an off-duty cop. Who else would carry a gun on their hip and be scared of druggies who were up-and-coming street artists? He touches his ankle and I realize oh FUCK he's an undercover government agent. Why else would a person have two guns?! I have to get out of here before I am arrested for drug use and vandalism. Maybe I can kill him. I could spray his eyes with the paint...but that wouldn't cause death...I could run away. That'd look nice. "Hey." And the next words out of his mouth are going to be, 'You are under arrest for being a dirty cop. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you. Do you understand your rights as I have presented them to you?' and I'll scream, 'Yes, you idiot, I'm a police officer! I've performed a hundred and thirty-two arrests in my years on the force!' and then--  
"Wanna fuck?" Holy shit, are you serious. Now he's a B-grade prostitute. I arrest them all the time. He was probably reaching for knives or pepper spray on a keychain, or throwing stars or something. Do I wanna fuck?

-Now-  
"Absolutely." And a charge of engaging in prostitution will be presented to the judge along with the others. But it's been so long. My hand can only do so much. I need this. He grins. "Let's go to your place--my girlfriend can't know." Oh, good. He won't tell anyone and won't want a relationship. That's a rare treat. But it's also enough to know that. He keeps looking at me like he wants to talk to me. Probably can't shut up in real life. Prostitution is seen as another life, a secret life. It's hard to explain. I'll do it later. Whores often only do vanilla sex. It's not what I need. If he doesn't cooperate I'll arrest him. I could just rape him. I smirk internally. Maybe he's a pro-sub, a professional submissive. If he is, I'll have lots of fun and get exactly what I need.

My first arrest as a police officer was of a prostitute. He put up a hell of a fight and I remember thinking, 'if all arrests are going to resemble this, I'm handing in my badge and service weapon when we get to the station.' Some did. Some didn't. Prostitutes, at least ones who began in adulthood and of their own free will, tend to fight back. Children or minors forced into sex work just cry when they are arrested. They go to juvenile detention facilities, do some time, get probation and are usually placed in foster care afterward. The adults get harder sentences, rot, get heavy probation and then they are left to their own devices. My toughest case was the one where Soledad was shot. I was shot at. It was awhile ago, and we had gotten comfortable with each other.

-Six months earlier-  
She was scowling at her hands before the stoplight turned green. I glanced over at her, and she at me. "This nail polish is shitty. If you ever decide to paint your nails for anything, don't use N.Y.C brand. It's clumpy, the color is washed out, and once both coats are on they start chipping. Use Wet n' Wild--it's a rich, smooth coat." I nod, keeping my eyes on the road. "Take a right." I put on the sirens as well as the lights.

Blue and cherry flashed and sirens howled as I ran over the details yet again in my mind. White male, psychologically unstable, problems with women. This man abused drugs and alcohol and kidnapped and prostituted little girls. Little differently-abled girls between the ages of five and ten. Five years old to ten years old! He'll deserve every second of prison time he gets, I thought to myself, turning off the sirens as we approached the location. The lights continued to flash and there was no traffic. Good. I hate Seattle traffic, even now. It was demeaning as a patrol cop to pull people over for tickets--speeding, drunk driving or close to it, embracing while driving (yes, people do fuck while driving), and driving without wearing a seatbelt. Those were the most frequent reasons people recieved tickets from me. "Sasuke!" Shit. I'd nearly hit a drunk pedestrian. She made a rude hand signal and wobbled onto the sidewalk. We'd arrest her for drunk and disorderly later. Right then we had a child prostitution ring to break up. Seattle's traffic is terrible, and people don't always get out of the way for cops. Now, they were. I drove calmly, silently into the cul-de-sac to the place where the man kept the children. Other black-and-whites followed, six police cars total. Soledad and I shut our doors as we exited the car. Soledad rapped impatiently on the door, repeating the action twice before glaring at the oak slab.

"Police!" she thundered, kicking the door open and clear off its hinges. The bang echoed throughout the room and we streamed inside, pouring into multiple rooms. "Clear." "Clear," others echoed. Some searched for the suspect. Others searched for the children. I crept into the doorway of the master bedroom and motioned to Soledad. The man smiled and raised his--"Gun!" I yelled as Soledad collapsed, grimacing. Rookies and veteran police alike barged into the room as a hot chunk of metal whizzed by my temple. Shots are fired at the suspect, into his hands. Soledad cursed alternately in Spanish and English as she pulled her gun's trigger again and again. I kicked the gun out of her hand. The suspect was down on the ground, facedown and hands gushing blood over the handcuffs. Two officers heaved him up, retrieved his gun and dragged him out. One called for an ambulance on Soledad's behalf. I rode with her. "Not all pedophiles are tackled to the floor if they have a gun," Soledad groaned from the stretcher. I wondered if the thick black straps securing her to it were worsening the blood flow. "I didn't think so," I watched the EMTs fuss over her. Five months later, we testified in trial. The suspect was found guilty on charges related to pedophilia, child kidnapping, soliciting prostituion, assaulting a police officer and attempted murder of a police officer. The children were placed in foster care and recieved counseling. Soledad was shot and the bullet punctured her appendix. It was removed and she's been fine ever since.

-Current time-  
I look at him and we ascend the stairs. He follows closely behind me, a docile puppy.


	8. Chapter 8

Sasuke-  
We look at each other. He moves quickly into my personal space. I jerk away, bumping into my door while groping for my keys in my pocket. I hit my head in the process and curse in Japanese under my breath. The man I'm about to fuck, whose name I don't even know, looks--hurt? embarrassed? nervous? Why do I care? I fumble with the keys and after two attempts, fit the key into the lock. The man I'm about to fuck stumbles into my apartment before me. It's dark and cold inside and he trips and falls.  
"Oof!"  
"Nice to know you're so eager," I mutter, turning on the lights and heat after shutting and locking the door behind me. He crosses his arms and scowls from his position on the floor. I examine his appearance. His shoelaces are untied. That's how he tripped. "Your apartment is so clean...it looks like you wash the walls!" He has a very loud voice. "I do," I growl. "What's your name?" I ask before he speaks again. "It's um..." He pauses to think. "Francisco." Obviously not his real name. Guys I have one-night stands with always make up names. "Francisco, take off your shoes and socks. Put them near my front door." As he rushes to obey my command--a good indicator that he'll be an excellent submissive--I race into my bedroom and put the spray cans in their place, then fold up the beige burlap tote bag and place it in a lower desk drawer. I close it gently and wander to my front door, where Francisco is waiting. "What's your name?"  
"I'll only tell you if I think you'll be screaming it." I remove the black beanie, place it on its hook in the wall and feel my black hair frame my face.

"My name is Sasuke."  
He grins widely and nods confidently. "Hi, Sasuke."  
I pull him towards me and kiss him aggressively. He doesn't respond out of surprise until after a few seconds when he calms down.

It's probably been awhile since he's had a boyfriend, or I hope he's not a virgin--his kisses aren't as skilled as I prefer. He pulls back sooner than I'm used to so he can breathe. "How long has it been?" Francisco (if that's his real name) asks me. The scars on his face are sexy, as are his unusually long canines, both upper and lower. I enjoyed running my tongue over them. He has excellent oral hygiene, which I also appreciate. His tongue is strong, but his technique could improve. Maybe he's better at blowjobs. "About...two and a half years." I will not explain how or why it ended. Francisco nods. "And you?"  
"Six months."  
I walk silently to the bedroom and turn on the stereo, to an Enrique Iglesias CD and a song of his, Ring My Bells, and place it on repeat. Francisco hesitates for a moment and bounds after me once he realizes what I'm doing. Once the door is shut, I yank off his shirt and he grabs at mine, reciprocating the action. We start on each other's jeans. If this seems crassly eager or classily sexy, I don't care. I want him. The clothes are in a messy pile on the floor near the bed. As I debate whether or not to crouch down and fold them, I glance at his boxers and smirk. They are neon orange and made of silk. They further my hypothesis that he's an undercover FBI agent. They probably make good enough money to buy silk underwear for every day of the week. The color doesn't surprise me either. It fits with his personality. I make my decision.

"Francisco." He looks at my eyes again. "Crouch down and fold the clothes neatly, then put them carefully into two piles according to who wears what." He does not question me but takes great care in obeying me. I wonder briefly what he thinks of my hemp cotton, dark blue boxers. "Good boy," I slide into the routine I've done so many times before. Never with an FBI agent, though. The job I think he has makes things hot and spicy.

"Get onto the bed. Spread your legs. Don't put your hands behind your head like that!" He quickly puts his hands by his sides, grinning mischievously.  
I'll make sure to delay his orgasm as punishment.

One of the reasons I relish scenes so much is that I burn calories with the way I do things--I walk back and forth between the toy chest and my bed a lot. I prepare and use the toys slowly, which alwayhas irritated the hell out of my exes. But maybe this FBI agent (if he is one and I'm not harboring a delusion) likes things slow. Maybe he likes anticipating things. He might realize that this is all...about...me. He'd be the first. I open the toy chest and snatch the things I need. He needs them even more. I close the lid and advance to the bed. "Do you prefer lark knots or square knots?" I'm curious. He stares at the cieling, a slow smile slithering across his face. "I don't know what it's called in English, but the one that will bind my wrists together in a figure-eight." I knew it. "And don't bother with the two-finger rule."

"Too bad, I always do."  
He protests heavily and I inform him that I don't fuck brats or men who disregard safety. He pouts childishly. It's mostly a facial expression--the black cotton clothesline ties his wrists to the bedframe and his elbows are by his ears. He can't cross his arms. I tie his ankles to the footboard posts, spreading his legs widely. He wriggles his toes and smiles. "C'mon, Don Sasuke, hurry up." I raise an eyebrow and continue my pace, fumbling slightly since I've been surprised. Francisco explains the name. "Don is...an honorific name for a man, a sign of respect, a compliment. Don Juan is a name most non-Latinos recognize. That's an example."  
"Hn."

I move against him, on top of him. I cross my arms so my elbows dig into his shoulders. We look at each other's eyes yet again. "What do you want, Francisco?"  
"I want you to dig your elbows into my shoulders a lot harder. Yeah, just like that! I need you to...keep moving your toes against my ankles like that," he mewls. "Slap me. Whip me. Tell me you just don't care. Pull my hair a lot...hard. I'm big on foreplay...blindfold me...I want to deep-throat you..."  
I run my fingernails from his collarbone to his pelvic bone as hard as I can. "Ow, ow, Dios mio, you're intense." His chest heaves.  
"Is that a yellow light?"  
"No, it's a compliment. My yellow light is 'luz amarillo' and my red light is 'luz rojo.'"  
I nod. "Good. I like a man who can safeword." I pull his boxers halfway down his legs before untying his ankles to fully remove the orange cloth from his body.

"Hey, Don Sasuke, can I try taking your boxers off with my toes?"  
I'm sure my facial expression is priceless. God DAMN, I landed a creative bed partner. "Please, please," and he begins whining and begging. I slap him to shut him up. "Harder," he cries out.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I don't condone the fact that Sasuke and Naruto didn't talk to each other before they started to scene, but as the stories I write become more developed, the characters are harder to control. Please don't follow their example. Discuss safewords/gestures with your partner before you scene! NEGOTIATE. Talk about limits! Be safe. COMMUNICATE. Have a first-aid kit and a telephone nearby in case anything goes wrong. Don't worry about what the paramedics will think; they have seen everything. Make sure to tell them the injuries sustained were accidental and all conduct was consensual.

-Naruto-  
And it's the sixth time of asking 'please' that a very personal heat expands in my lip and jaw from Sasuke's hand. It makes me even harder. I hadn't thought that was possible. He kisses me hard and pushes my hips down. "Try," he whispers. His hot breath in my ear causes a shudder to ripple down my spine and back up over my nipples. I groan. Damn it! I groaned too soon. I was planning on waiting till he was getting more into it. Oh well. Sasuke sits back on his heels and holds my legs down, hands on my knees. I calmly use my abdominal muscles to raise into a sitting position after he unties my wrists. I wriggle for a bit, then lie back down and raise my legs to Sasuke's hips. He smirks. My toes grip the cotton and it begins to slowly move downward. Sasuke's face is expressionless as my toenails rake his skin, leaving angry red trails down his upper thighs. "Ow!" he grimaces and growls something in Japanese.  
"What?" I ask.  
"Kimono. It's my yellow-light. My red-light is tengu."  
"What do those mean?"  
"A kimono is a traditional garment worn by women. Tengu means shape-shifter."  
I nod.  
"So should I use my hands instead?" He scowls. "Use your teeth and file your goddamn claws." This is the most he's said so far. "Uh…do you have a nail file?"  
"You idiot, I'm not going to let you use mine. I don't know what kind of germs your feet have."  
"Hey pretentious bastard, I'm just trying to make this a good scene for us." I scowl and cross my arms as he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Pangs of guilt and indignation flow through me masked as grumpiness as I lower my head to his hips.

Not all attempts at something new can be successful, so I revert to my usual method of using my mouth. He makes a strange noise as I lick the scratch marks, something between pleasure, pain and I look up at him, wondering if he's going to call a red light. Damn it, I at least want to give him a blow job. My partners' satisfactions are important to me! Sasuke glares impatiently down at me and I nip gently at his skin. He relaxes slightly. His bare body is pale, with no hint of scars, tattoos, or moles. I slither against his body until my face rests on his left thigh. "Can I give you a blow job or are you going to flip over and tie me down again?" Sasuke sits up and raises an eyebrow. "What makes you think I'm so predictable, Francisco?" I sit upright immediately, my eyes narrowed indignantly. "That's not—-fair, you mindfucker!" I holler. I almost told him that my name isn't Francisco. It's part of why I don't have sex when I'm undercover if I can help it. I gag slightly. He opens his eyes and glares. "What are you, a blow job virgin?" I pull away from him. "No, I underestimated. Like I said, it's been six months."  
"Hn."  
I resume tentatively and he lies back again, fingers locked into my hair. His breathing is heavy. I move carefully to meet his thrusts.

I wish I could get a tongue stud. It'd be a twelve-gauge barbell in the center of the tip of my tongue and my partners would be driven wild…but I'm a Special Agent Linguist. I have to speak loud, fast and clear to help my coworkers get what they need to prove the suspects innocent. I can't believe I'm thinking about work right now! I haven't had sex in six months and I'm thinking about how I shouldn't get a tongue piercing for sexual purposes because it would interfere with work. I have issues.

He pulls my hair hard and my head jerks back with the force of his action. His body jerks only once as he comes. I have difficulty swallowing the semen because of the angle at which my head is tilted, but he's having a good time. I can deal with it.

His actions are fast and hard—he doesn't even relax or really look at me after the blow job, he rolls over and ties me down again. Sasuke uses the two-finger rule, which means he doesn't tie me down as tight as I'd like (okay, that's not what it really means, but it's how I'm reacting to the situation). No words are exchanged between us when he blindfolds me. It's a rather heavy one, not made of cotton.  
Maybe gingham or velvet. I don't even know what gingham is.

I really like being blindfolded when I'm tied down—it intensifies everything and just makes things better. Bad sex becomes okay sex, okay sex becomes good sex, good sex becomes great and great becomes mind-blowing. Believe it!

His hands are rough and dry and I squirm as they roam over my body. Sasuke leaves no place untouched. The way he does it reminds me of old boyfriends, the ones who, after a night of sex, made me breakfast and asked if they could drive me to work. No, I always answered. Why not? Well, I can't tell you where I work or what I do. They would grumble and eventually leave me. They would only believe for so long that I worked as a Navy SEAL. I writhe as his hands move. "More," I whimper. It's been a long time since anyone made me feel like this--no, no one has touched me like this. His hands are warm, not hot or sweaty. They're probably cold as ice normally. His fingers are slender and I think about the parallels between pulling a gun's trigger and striking a man's prostate as he prepares me. I wonder if he is, too. I've had sex with eight men and relationships with five of those eight. Sasuke wll be the ninth one. Not a single one of them maintained eye contact with me while they touched me like this, let alone intense eye contact. It probably comes naturally to Sasuke. He gnaws on my neck and I shudder.

"You know everything I've wanted, and things I never imagined but needed," my voice trails off. Wow, can I sound any more like a lovestruck virgin? He smiles into my neck and bites harder. "Don't come," he murmurs, biting my ear. "Screw you!" He laughs at me and squeezes. Hard. "Ow!"  
"Like I said, don't come."  
"You arrogant bastard! This orgasm better be worth it!"  
"Shut up or I'm not going to be gentle in the beginning," he snarls. He removes the blindfold. I could cry in frustration. What a bitch.  
At least he's wearing a condom.

"Sasuke."  
I am NOT going to say it.  
"Sasuke...please, cover my mouth. It's--ah--best for--ooh--us both."  
He chuckles low in his throat.  
"Ow!" Pain shoots through me.  
"Don't ever tell me to do something like that," he pants.  
"I don't care what secrets you have. I don't care who it could hurt if you told," he growls.

I writhe and grip the bed frame, desperately trying to catch my breath and protest.  
His weight on top of me is heavy.  
All he has to do is grab my throat and already I've come, gasping his name.  
He smirks as he comes. So arrogant. But it felt damn good.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N:I do not own Anna Quindlen, nor do I own her book "Black and Blue". She has all the rights to it as far as I know, as she should. I am not making any money off the mention of her book or her person, nor do I intend to. I don't own O'Dea High School, I just know it and am not making any profit from mentioning it. I have no grudges against the school or anyone there; I am simply using it as a setting in this fanfiction for creative purposes. I am not anti-Catholic; I was baptized Catholic.

-Sasuke-  
I scurry away as he looks at me, into the bathroom to dispose of the condom. The lubricant is on top of the box of condoms, stuffed protectively into the drawer on the nightstand.  
Splashing cold water on my face, I pause to reflect.

The sex hasn't been that good in a really, really long time. I dress silently, not impressed at how he stares at me.  
"Hey, Sasuke?"  
"Get dressed," I snap to shut him up. He's going to ask it.

He walks into the bathroom after pulling his shirt over his head and he, too, splashes cold water on his face. I unlock the front door and stand in the doorway as he turns to look at me. "Thanks," he puts a hand in a back pocket of his jeans. "My pleasure." It sounds sarcastic. Before I have time to decide whether I meant it to or not, he asks it.

"When can we see each other again?"  
Shit.

I trudge in to work at nine, hoping nobody notices anything.  
"Hi, Sasuke!"  
"Hi, Umino," I grumble.  
"You okay?" Hatake asks. What, does he expect me to tell him I'm dating a man who's keeping me on the down low, who I think is an undercover FBI agent?  
"Captain, with all due respect, just let me do my job."  
"Where are you on the Quindlen case?" Umino asks curiously, referring to the case I named after author Anna Quindlen.  
"It's been cold for years, but we might have some new, solid leads." Anna Quindlen wrote a book called "Black And Blue," about a cop's wife who fled with her child to escape her husband's beatings. This case is exactly that, only it's in real life.

She's back, the child was killed by the husband and no Seattle police officer is saying anything. The husband, because of his privileges as a police officer, is screwing his wife over. The law, or corruption thereof, is screwing her over even harder. I really, really have a problem with cops like him. He should be arrested, and that's what we're trying to do. I'm a hypocrite, you might think. After all, I'm a meth addict and I tag. Well, I know I will be caught sooner than I think and I will be cooperative to the officers when they toss me into the holding cell. I won't deny anything. This guy is denying everything, lying to us and it's clear he's very misogynist.

"And the Port of Seattle accusations?"  
"That's not our jurisdiction," I respond. Hatake smiles. "Just making sure you were paying attention. The Seven Virtues suspect gets out in ten minutes—bring him here." I snatch the warrant out of his hand and stride to my car. Hatake's a quiet passenger, buried in that orange book of his. Soledad always stares intently at the roads ahead of her whether she's driving or not. She'll tell me a driving direction or talk about something entirely off topic if she's nervous that something will go wrong. She rarely does this, but when she does, she's always right. Hatake is engrossed in his book and in comparison to Soledad's intense, adrenaline-fueled, angry silence, he seems bored and detached.  
Hatake and I both show our badges. The principal smiles when we explain who we need to see.  
"He's finishing his last class of the day. I'll go get him."  
"Thank you, Brother."  
He nods and walks away. O'Dea high school, like many other Catholic high schools, houses relatively few students in a large building. It smells weird. The Seven Virtues Rapist is most likely a student here at O'Dea high school, a boys-only institution. He has easy access to the nearby all-girls' Catholic school and has raped seven students there. He wrote one heavenly virtue on each of their backs in accordance to how they led their lives—chastity, diligence, humility, charity, kindness, patience and temperance.

I don't like to identify minors by using their legal names to the public, and even though you're sworn to secrecy, I consider you public, so I'll refer to the teens by their virtues. Temperance had her water spiked with a heavy, pure amount of GHB before she was raped. Patience was assaulted into unconsciousness and raped, then had her tongue partially severed before she awoke. Kindness had her left index and middle fingers broken. Charity was robbed and raped. Humility, as she was being raped, had body fluids expelled on her. Diligence's room was gutted by fire from a lit cigarette, and other parts of her house were also burnt after she was raped. Chastity was raped orally, anally and vaginally. The Seven Virtues Rapist did not use a condom with any of his victims.

"Hey," he adjusts his backpack onto one shoulder and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He wears the standard O'Dea uniform, clean, ironed, spotless. He wears black dress-style pants that cover his ankles. His socks are hidden by black single-sole tennis shoes. The tucked in dress shirt with a stiff, starched collar covers his slightly flabby chest. His sideburns are uniformly trimmed above his ears. White male, auburn hair and hazel eyes. One is lazy. He is 5'6" and maybe a hundred fifty pounds. He's nervous. I tighten the handcuffs as I recite his rights. The bulky, heavy backpack filled with the massive textbooks only a private school can offer makes the procedure slightly more difficult than usual.  
He's quiet in the car and doesn't ask for a lawyer when we arrive at the precinct, but he does ask for a glass of water. He's cooperative as we interrogate him. His signature on his written statement is written heavily, confidently. He's eighteen and will do at least a few decades for statutory rape and all the charges of aggravated assault, plus an arson charge. He asks questions about legal procedures and the A.D.A. explains everything to him.

It's definitely one of the smoother, cleaner, faster cases we've had. The entire ordeal, from the initial arrest to having him sign his statement, lasted a little over three hours. What most people don't realize is how long cases really take, how many things go wrong and how sad and frustrating it is. It's never like what's shown on TV, and cases don't get solved in forty-five minutes. Cases go cold. Criminals don't always get convicted or serve time. Lawyers don't always cooperate with police, and some judges are assholes. The Seattle Police Department, especially the Federal Way division where I work, isn't perfect. I mean, it's not historically corrupt as the LAPD, not famous and misrepresented like the NYPD and it has a high crime rate, unlike police departments in rich cities. The rich ones mostly respond to noise complaints and dog bites. Federal Way, by contrast, is a poor, crime-riddled neighborhood (or collections thereof) with a lot of housing projects and apartment projects. There's a lot of minorities, and people that are culturally conditioned to hate, evade or avoid police. I'm a minority, too, and I can't really blame them.

Hatake summons me into his office. Soledad just called to report on the progress of the MS-13 case. We're almost there. Oh, did I mention that since a rape is reported every five minutes and child abuse is often reported as well, that police officers in this unit work on average fifteen cases at once? Otherwise nothing would be solved.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: The characters speak Spanish in this chapter and I used Spanish punctuation to indicate speech (the hyphens). They function similar to American quotation marks as far as indicating when someone started or stopped talking.

-Naruto-  
Hinata flops down on the couch next to me. Other women, mostly in the age range of fifteen to twenty-nine, congregate in the room. They speak openly of their experiences as girls in the and I are still getting used to it. Rosario's not much of a talker. She listens carefully though. It's probably because she recently joined the gang (so did we, sort of) and membership doesn't exactly allow for leaving. She probably wants to obtain all the information she can so she'll know what to expect. Hinata is trying to work up the courage to say something. She is beginning to blush in anticipation of being laughed at. No one, even any of the men, has made fun of her for her limited ability to speak Spanish. She's gotten a lot better recently, and those who don't know her think she's becoming more confident. That's sort of true.

--How old are you?—she finally stammers, blushing heavily, to a girl who's definitely under the age of eighteen. The girl shrugs, and her hoop earrings move.  
–Sixteen.—  
Hinata's eyes widen. –How long have you been in the gang?—  
--Why?—  
--Don't your parents worry about you?—  
The girl laughs and Hinata notices her manicure, sparkly blue fake nails with white lettering. –You have MS-13 stenciled into your nails!—  
--It's better than the treatment I get at home.-- Several of the others mumble in agreement. I'm the only guy in the room, and they all seem to trust me. Maybe they know I'm gay. If they don't, I hope nobody finds out. They've performed this ritual of gathering and talking probably since the gang's creation, as a way to escape the men. –Ernesto's so ugly.-- Rosario speaks suddenly. Everyone laughs and agrees.  
–I thought gang colors and the bandanna would make him look hot, but no. He's still ugly and fat underneath!—his girl smiles. More laughter.

–Hey, if he's ugly, how come you have sex with him?—I ask.  
–I'm an adult. I can do what I want. Really, it's to prevent Ricardo from doing it. There's no way I'd have sex with a forty-year-old guy!—The women groan in disgust at the mere thought.  
–So what goes on, a girl chooses a guy to have sex with and then they're monogamous?—Rosario hugs her knees and fiddles with her hair. I grip Hinata's hand tighter.  
–No, a guy has sex with you. If you always pretend to enjoy it, or you don't struggle too much, he won't get bored and no one else will try anything.—Rosario frowns at that and hugs her knees tighter.  
–So are we okay?—I indicate the fact that we're holding hands.  
–Oh, you're fine. They might make fun of you because you never slap her around though.—  
--They already do.—I grumble.  
--Rosario, have you ever had your hair put into corn-rows?—The conversation always flows freely. Anyone can ask anyone anything. Maybe I'm a low threat because Hinata is posing as my girlfriend. I don't know. I hope I stay that way though.  
–Yeah.—  
--Your hair is so long, so thick! How long did it take?—  
--Three hours.—She nods to herself, probably remembering the experience.  
--Did you get beads put on the ends?—

Rosario smiles. It must be a Colombian thing. –So you're Mexican. I've been wondering. No, just little white rubber bands.—I stand corrected. –Is your hair naturally that long?—  
--Yeah. I've never dyed it, either.—The women murmur in admiration. Rosario seems uncomfortable. –Hey, can I braid it?—Hinata asks. Rosario smiles. –-Sure.—  
--Claudia! Get the nail polish. You promised to paint my nails,-- a twenty-year-old with crooked teeth hollers to the fifteen-year-old across the room. –Marina, calm down.—She trots happily across the room, which is soon infused with the odor of nail polish fumes. –Hey Francisco, want me to do your makeup?—another teases. –No!—They all laugh. –Your scars are so sexy,-- she has black hair and several ear piercings. She turns to Hinata. –Do you touch them during—  
--Oh fuck, I almost spilled the nail polish!—Again, the hollering. Good timing, otherwise two FBI agents would have been found dead of embarrassment. Overall though, I'm calmer than I have been in awhile. It's nice to be around the girls. The guys are scary. Hinata finishes braiding Rosario's hair and I watch her sneak glances at Rosario's hand.

Later that night, I sit quietly at the table with the men. They smoke cigarettes and, like the women, talk. However, they talk about guns and drugs and illegal things they've done. It turns my stomach. They use derogatory terms for the women they are sleeping with and say terrible things about them. Then alcohol bottles are passed around. They plan more crimes and ask why I am writing all this down. I stutter nervously that it's so I can know what to expect and prepare for my future as a member of MS-13. They roar with laughter and do not approach the subject again. Hopefully they do not suspect the truth, that I'm writing it down so they can be arrested and do a few decades in prison. Maybe some of them, the ones with high positions, will even get the death penalty.

"Want a cigarette?" The pack is offered to me. I shake my head. "I don't smoke." He shrugs and tosses it on the table. "Do you drink?"  
"No."  
"You're a girl," another laughs. "You don't drink, do drugs, smoke or slap your girlfriend around—how will she learn? You're too forgiving." I stare, pretending not to understand. –Do you drink coffee?—I nod. –Have you ever killed anyone?—I nod again, shrugging. They train their gazes on me, waiting for my anecdote. How the hell am I supposed to morph something that I did at work into something gang members would enjoy hearing? I shot and killed a man who stabbed me twice. It was self-defense. He was angry because the agents didn't believe him, and it was clear by his body language that he was lying. He took his frustration out on me, the interpreter. He didn't stab me hard enough to leave scars though.

--Well, um…--  
--C'mon, tell us.—  
--I shot this guy with a gun I stole from a dead cop. I shot the guy three times because…because he raped my sister and…and he tried to kidnap my girlfriend.— I hate improvising lies. It works for them though. They nod in respect.  
–Was that the girlfriend you have now?--  
--No, a different one.--  
--What happened to the old one?--  
--She cheated on me so I left her.—  
Every moment that they focus on me is uncomfortable. The ones with low status are nice, but I don't want to trust them. The ones with high status are mean and greedy, not caring about what they have to do to get money, sex or drugs.

--Where's your accent from?—  
Oh, shit. If I tell them truth it could compromise the operation or get me killed. He doesn't wait for an answer.  
–You're from Peru, huh?—  
Damn.  
--Well, yeah. My parents were in the Shining Path. They got killed and I got adopted by an American.—Big lie. The men look at me with a new, deep respect, waiting for more. I rub the back of my neck nervously. –Um, my mom handled the money and my dad handled the guns…I was the one who physically dealt the drugs…cocaine, heroin…I was about six when I started and sixteen when they died and I stopped. I was moved to America then and now I'm here.—

Lies.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: The Sendero Luminoso, or Shining Path, is a real Peruvian gang (and the MS-13 is a real gang based in El Salvador, as Naruto has already explained). The Sendero Luminoso is mostly drug traffickers, and they were active in Peru mostly in the nineties, hence Naruto's young age for dealing the drugs. They're a little bit active nowadays and they have not yet had copycats in America that I know of. Mostly they're in Lima and around the Amazon, in the jungles where coca (cocaine is made from it) and poppy (heroin and other opiates is made from it) plants grow. I do not own these gangs, nor am I member, nor have I ever been and I definitely do not plan on becoming one. I would have put it in last chapter's author notes but I figured I was talking too much. As far as this story's length, I'm still undecided. It might be less than twenty-four chapters, it might be twenty-five. I'll figure it out soon.

-Sasuke-  
She has blood all over her, but she survived. The ambulance's sirens scream over us as we speed to the nearest hospital. "Go ahead and talk to her," an EMT nods to me as he speaks. "Do you know who did this to you?" She shakes her head 'no' repeatedly, moaning as tears from her eyes and blood from her forehead stream down her face. "Okay—" She grunts in frustration, shaking her head more and closing her eyes. "You do, but you want to protect them," I supply. This happens all the time. She nods vigorously. The rape exam is difficult for her. Immediately after it begins, she cries out and grabs both of my hands. It seems that she is too traumatized to speak because she answers questions with nonsensical monosyllables. She repeats two in a row for 'no' and one for 'yes'. We carefully arrange for her to visit the precinct to be interviewed in six hours—it is three in the morning. I plan to pay for the rape kit as usual and I wonder if I'll still be able to cover this month's rent. If I didn't do meth for the entire month, this wouldn't be a problem. Damn it. I drop the woman off at the hotel she requested in writing to stay at and sulk my way home. For tonight, I've already gotten high. I won't allow myself a double shot.  
As I toss and turn because insomnia has its tongue down my throat as happens every night, I think to myself that maybe I should take up heroin. Doesn't it make people sleepy? I never worked vice. I don't really know about drugs except for meth. My landline rings. Five in the morning. "Uchiha," I mumble. "You said you had insomnia, so…"  
"Yeah, it comes with being a—uh, it comes with my work."  
"I know how that is," Francisco sighs. I imagine him rubbing his scars. I wonder how he received them. "Do you want to get together again? It uh, might help you sleep afterwards."  
"Do you remember where my apartment is?"  
"Yeah. I have a pretty good memory. It comes with my work."  
"I can empathize."

(The rest of this chapter has content inappropriate for ff. net. Please refer to the link to my LJ in my profile to read the uncensored version.)


	13. Chapter 13

-Naruto-  
They are arguing about a hit they have to make because someone is selling drugs in their territory. I listen carefully and dutifully transcribe it into my notebook. I share it with the agents. We're all tired but we can't become bored. Bored means you're letting your guard down and then someone dies. I wake up later that night and stare at the digital clock on the wobbly nightstand. The green numbers glow 9:25 PM. I roll over on my front, exhaling. Somebody barges into the room. I turn and smile lazily when I see Hinata. We share this room. She curls up next to me. "You sure slept hard."  
"I thought I'd sleep all night…"  
"You feel that comfortable here?"  
I shrug.  
"You sure went to bed early."  
I crawled in here at six. "Hinata, I was so tired…" I protest. She nods. I yawn. We hear footsteps outside the door and I quickly roll on top of her. Hinata blushes profusely and we turn to look at Claudia, who hurriedly exits the room. I apologize quietly for the impulsiveness of my actions and Hinata responds kindly, just as quietly. It got us the privacy we needed though. I roll away from Hinata and towards the wall, yawning again.

"Naruto, are we seeing the other agents tonight?"  
"Not unless someone has anything new…which I doubt at this hour."  
"Okay."  
Hinata and I change into our pajamas. She falls asleep quickly, despite the fact she doesn't feel comfortable in a house full of gang members. Neither do I, really. I lie awake. I can't call Sasuke for sex two days in a row. Maybe I should try drinking some liquid form valerian root since I doubt the ability of sleeping pills. I'm not horny anyway. Still tired from last night! I am curious about Sasuke, and I'd like to see him again. Trying not to think about the investigation, I will my body to relax. Maybe tomorrow we'll find out more.

There's about thirty girls and women, all chattering loudly and excitedly. Eleven different conversations, maybe more, float through the air. Rosario, Hianata and I are sharing funny stories. "Everyone at my high school thought the gangsta walk was all that," Hinata stands up and imitates it, "but I always thought it looked like they were thinking, 'I have a cramp in my leg, I have a cramp in my leg.'" Rosario explodes into laughter. It's the greatest sound, and sight—she seems so sad and she's so serious the rest of the time. It's been a month, and she hasn't opened up to anyone at all. Hinata and I haven't really, either, though. "I got my wisdom teeth pulled…they had to put me on laughing gas," I grin at the memory. "And they had to keep turning the knob on the machine up and up….and then it squeaked. I laughed really hard because it was the funniest thing in the world. It squeaked!" Hinata and Rosario laugh together at the story. The conversations around the room, even ours, quiet soon.

Rosario takes a deep breath and looks around. It's going to be serious, I can tell. She hasn't really started any group conversations before. She prefers answering questions. "Have any of you ever been raped or beaten by a boyfriend?" Silence and shock reign. Then nodding. Then looking away, crying, or crossing the arms across the chest. "Tell me about it—one by one. Especially if your boyfriend is still doing it and is a member of the gang."

The stories they share are horrifying and will not be repeated. We are all sworn to secrecy. I won't tell even you.

--Rosario, is anything wrong?—She jumps at the sound of my voice.  
--What?—  
--You seem nervous and jumpy today. What's going on?—  
She stares me in the eye and her body language indicates she's assumed a fighting stance—she doesn't like my line of questioning and is ready for a fight. –Nothing.—She's telling the truth, and she doesn't like to be interrogated. –Well, if anything is, you can always tell me.—She nods, jaw clenched and mouth set in a firm line.

The mansion has seven rooms—Hinata and I share one and gang members share most of the others. Rosario has her own room somehow. The other gang members, as well as the agents, live in expensive apartments a few blocks away. The agents congregate daily—the women mostly talk and the men mostly commit crimes. Sometimes the duties switch places, with the women prostituting themselves and the men planning and bragging. It's all illegal. They'll all do at least a decade in prison. The loss of freedom will hit the teenagers hardest unless they go to juvy, which I doubt. Echo Glen is mild compared to Walla Walla. Maybe I'm being too hopeful—they could hire very powerful, manipulative lawyers. Or maybe I'm not being hopeful enough—they could go directly to federal prisons instead of the maximum-security one in Walla Walla. I'll learn at sentencing. We have quite a bit of evidence against against each of them already, after a month and a half. It'll happen.

My thoughts drift to Rosario. I still can't figure her out. She has another maybe-fake, probably, tattoo, a thirteen in black on her neck. It appeared three days ago and was kind of red around the edges. It could have been drawn in Sharpie, then she could have rubbed her neck vigorously to make it reddish, as though it were really a still-healing tattoo. I wonder about her cop boyfriend. Talking about him makes her sad. It's understandable—he's a cop, she's a gang member. Or maybe not. If she is, he could rescue her one day and they could be safe and…Maybe she's lying and an amazing actress. I think her boyfriend really exists. I want to believe she's a gang member. I want to believe everything she says. I want to believe her. I don't know why.


	14. Chapter 14

-Sasuke-  
Hatake greets me. I scowl as I smell the alcohol on his breath. Not overwhelming, but certainly noticeable. It's rare that he drinks before he shows up for work, but it always makes me grumpy and I want to grumble, 'You've been drinking.' Maybe Umino can persuade him to stop or to cut back. Sex, or a good partner, can often make people do stuff. Umino, Hatake and I gather around Hatake's desk and stare at the yellow manila envelope. Soledad has sent us something related to the MS-13 case. Perhaps she's garnered so much information that she couldn't talk about it over the phone without the gang members suspecting something. The package crinkles as Hatake undoes the clasp—bubble wrap. There's something besides the five pages. Text runs down both sides of each page. A black object—a digital audio recorder—sits patiently on top of the stapled pages, which I realize are the transcripted dialogue of whatever is on the recorder.

Hatake reaches for the phone and my heart sinks as the A.D.A. walks up to him no less than ten minutes later. Hatake hasn't examined the evidence and he called the assistant district attorney after merely glancing at it, which means it was illegally obtained. He does that always if he thinks something is illegally seized. And he's almost always right…if Soledad gets caught she could have to go before the review board or worse. No cop is entirely clean forever. Soledad is doing this so justice can be served. Pardon my triteness as I justify my partner's actions. We've been together a little over six months. What else can you expect?

Five men have raped and beaten thirty-three women and girls over a period of five years. Soledad indicates at the end of the stomach-churning tape that we should do voice line-ups. Everyone nods, even though she's miles away and can't see us. We will. Hearing her calm, professional voice calms me down, helps me release some of the stress I've had. She's fine. She'll come back after this and everything will be back to normal. The streets will be a little bit safer for awhile and she'll become an even more highly decorated detective. I turn my attention to the twenty other cases screaming for attention.

I hate the red zone. People flock to the station in droves, either in tears and begging to speak to someone, or being dragged in by someone who cares for them, deeply in denial and prepared to lie. The first five weeks of any college's beginning academic year are the most crime-riddled, statistically. The frequent use of drugs and alcohol, as well as peer pressure for sexual activity and newfound independence, are major factors in the rapes that are reported. If you must know, my years in college were very boring and uneventful. I never drank or did drugs. I kept to myself and only exited my dorm for meals, class or rare workshops that piqued my interest. I spoke to three people on a regular basis but did not remain friends with them after I graduated—actually, one. Gaara moved back to Brooklyn after only one year. He hated the school as much as I did. I've visited him a couple of times. He's been with Lee for five years now. On occasion he complains of the tediousness that staying with someone for five years brings, and Lee's jealous behaviors. He says that the sex makes up for it, though.  
"Uchiha," I answer the phone.  
"The sex still makes up for it."  
"I was just thinking about you. Don't tell Lee."

We both chuckle and update each other on our lives. Nothing much has changed. He sure likes the idea of Francisco as an agent for the FBI, probably because he thinks Francisco will cover his ass if he commits a crime. He would think the same thing of me if I lived in Brooklyn, even though I'd arrest him (and then pay his bail). I don't know where Francisco really does live, and I honestly think he has no real home. He moves around too much, is my hypothesis. Gaara tells me his lunch break is up but he'll call me later. We hang up. I follow up on a few solid leads and make progress on about half the cases. As I secure a search warrant for a case and arrest warrants for six others, I am slapped with another ten cases or possible cases. The red zone makes me want to shake up college students. Gaara would flat-out want to kill them. I'm not homicidal, but I am angry with drunk, high and stoned college students and abusive partners who think it's totally okay to do what they do. I sound like Soledad. I look over at her empty desk. The photo is still there. I've forgotten how long it's been.

"Are you having sex with anyone else?" Francisco asks bluntly later that night. "No," I respond slowly. Here we go again.  
"Look, Francisco…we're dating. We're monogamous. I like you. The sex is mind-blowing. Now shut up and cuddle me, damn it." He grins that wide grin and drapes an arm around me, snuggling up close.  
I was the one who cooked dinner tonight. Francisco gobbled down three helpings and inhaled quite a few wantons. He talked about how similar Japanese cuisine was to Peruvian, and explained that there are a lot of Japanese people in Peru. He hinted that he's Japanese-Peruvian, and talked about how common name-blending between the two cultures in Peru were. Keiko Ramirez. Juan Reyes-Nakasaki. Names like that. I cleared the table, wondering if Colombia culture-blended as well. As he washed the dishes, I asked him. "Yeah, they have Chinese people if I remember correctly. Do you know someone Colombian?"  
"Yeah, she's pureblood Latina though." Francisco nodded and closed the dishwasher. "I know a Colombian woman like that, too."  
He breathes heavily now and shifts about. Even when the sex exhausts him, he can't stay still after the orgasm. He usually falls asleep after five minutes of moving, though. It's cute. I really like being with him. His gentle snores lull me into a drowsy sleep. The pleasant state ends abruptly—not really, it's three hours later—as I am jarred into wakefulness thanks to my loud cell phone.

"Uchiha," I grumble sleepily. Francisco mumbles and stares at me through eyes heavy with sleep. "Okay. Twenty minutes at most." I roll out of bed and yank on some clothes. "I have to go." He sits up, chest bare but covered with the heavy quilt from the waist down. "It's a homicide, huh?" I stare at him. "You're a cop, aren't you?" Silence. "Why else would your work call you in the middle of the night?"  
"It's four o'clock in the morning," I point out. Stupid. "Unless you're cheating on me, bastard!"  
"I am not! And yes, I'm a cop. Don't tell anyone."  
"Come back safe."  
"I hope I will, too."  
Francisco doesn't seem to mind my profession. His calmness and word choice and…knowledge…furthers my hypothesis. I focus on the task before me as I drive to the scene. I gave Francisco a key to my apartment and he's alluded to moving into my apartment. I told him I'd have to know him better first. So he talked about himself for an hour. I just want to know if he works for the FBI. I'm sure he at least works in law enforcement.  
"Sorry to wake you up," chirps a crime scene investigator.  
"Bullshit. What've we got?" I bend my knees, staring down. All thoughts of Francisco fade temporarily.


	15. Chapter 15

-Naruto-  
He's a cop. That suits him. Probably a detective. Maybe lieutenant. When he told me, I wanted to tell him I work for the FBI. I lock the apartment door securely behind me. Did he give me the key so he could rush off to work or are we getting serious? Both? I wish he'd talk more. I work in the US, like I said before. It's going through a depression, or at the very least a deep recession. It makes me even happier that I have a steady, good job. I make a little over forty-three thousand dollars a year. I wonder how long it'll take before Sasuke resents me for it. If we stay together that long. He gave me a key to his apartment… I'm really glad that neither Hinata's nor Rosario's initiation rites involved rolling the dice. I like them both and that's really a terrible thing to have done to them. You probably don't know enough about gangs to understand rolling the dice—females usually roll the dice to see how many guys they have to have sex with to join the gang. They roll two dice, and if they complete the task, they're in the gang. Men just have to beat each other up. The MS-13 is male-dominated so that's not too much of a problem—many of us were socialized to start fights. Enough of that, you get the point.

Man, I am so hungry! I wish I could have some ramen. But I have to work. Someone will have something cooking. There's always something cooking in the house the gang shares. I'm not taking it for granted; I'm literally stating a fact. Rosario looks up at the sound of my rumbling tummy and nods in greeting. A ladle is in her left hand and her right hand is touching a cookbook. I hug Rosario hello.  
--How did you sleep?— She uses a Colombian slang that takes me a few seconds to figure out.  
--Oh, uh, fine. And you?—  
--I slept okay.—  
--I have to pee,-- I inform her, shuffling to the bathroom. When I return to the kitchen she is chopping root vegetables. –What are you cooking?—

--Sancocho.—  
--What?—  
--Colombian soup. It's good, I promise.—  
--Can I help?—I ask, reaching for a carrot.  
--No!—  
--Why?—I quickly withdraw my hand. –I washed my hands!—  
--You still can't help.—  
--You…meanie.—

Rosario laughs uproariously as Hinata walks into the room. We greet her.  
--Hey, you could help me cook.—  
--I'd like that.— Hinata smiles shyly and pours handfuls of diced vegetables into the cauldron on the stove.  
--It's sancocho. You probably don't have it in El Salvador.—  
--Not that I've seen.— Hinata blushes when she's lying. She doesn't know enough about El Salvadorian culture or cooking to know if they have sancocho.  
--Mexico has it. They call it something different though.—I touch the scars on my face and bounce up and down as I watch them make the soup. –I'm so hungry!—  
--We know,-- they laugh. Hianata places a lid on the large pot, then sits on the floor with me. Rosario hovers over the stove, peering at the simmering soup. An agonizing amount of time passes before Rosario hollers that the soup is ready. I spring over to her and am the first to be served a bowl. Dozens of other people crows the kitchen, clamoring for the food. I had no idea there were so many gang members—actually I did, it just seems like there are lots more because this kitchen can't hold them all comfortably. I guard my soup protectively, waiting for it to cool as I watch as the others are served. "Have you ever had this before?" I mumble to Hinata. I don't want to be caught speaking English. Neither does she, but her voice is so quiet that she will never need to mumble. She shakes her head. "It's good," I promise her. She agrees enthusiastically with me moments later. Not through speech, but she nods. She's just so quiet. Most of them think it's charming because they've never met such a shy person before. But I really worry about whether she fits in. I know I do—I'm Peruvian. It's just culture-clash jitters…but this is an FBI investigation. Oh great, now I'm thinking about the work aspect of it all and what will happen in the end.

There are six weeks left. I hope they go easy on Rosario. I really like her.

"I know we're not supposed to get attached to the people here but they're very nice and damn, the food is good," the agent leans back, smiling and satisfied.  
"It's a Latino thing."  
The agents stare at me.  
"What? Let me have racial pride. So is six weeks enough time for the deadline?"  
Everyone smiles. They know that when I ask if the amount of time left in an investigation is enough for the deadline, it is my way of saying I want this to be done already.  
"Yes, Uzumaki, it's enough time."  
Yes, Uzumaki, we're almost done.  
I send a silent prayer of thanks to whoever is listening when I hear that.

We have almost everything we need for this and everyone is safe so far. This is good. It's also a dangerous time in this investigation where one agent can relax and let something slip or be careless with information or evidence. Anything like that and we are more than screwed as individuals, as agents, as an agency…am I supposed to be paying attention? I listen for a few minutes. Then I listen more. And I listen more. My heart sinks and my stomach twists as I keep listening. Before you ask, I can't tell you. It's classified information, that's the answer to your questions. You'd wish I hadn't told you if I did tell you, anyway. I ate too much…I am so tired…I want to sleep this all away. They're not going to go easy on Rosario. They're not going to go easy on anyone. I—ugh.  
"Go to sleep, Naruto," Hinata whispers in the darkness.  
"I'll try."


	16. Chapter 16

-Sasuke-  
Two officers in full uniform mumble to one another, hoping I don't hear and report them for being unprofessional. It's morning! Why the fuck would I care?

"Hey, you know Molocchi, his beat's on Pike and Pine?"  
"Yeah?"  
"He lost his job. Budget cuts."  
"Holy shit."

Holy shit. That means I could lose my job too. I loathe the fact that this country is in a recession at the very least. The officers scuttle by my desk, Styrofoam cups of black sludge that civilians view as coffee clutched in their hands. It's Halloween. I don't like Halloween. I never liked it much as a child or teen. Now that I am an adult, and especially a cop, forget it. There's so much crime on Halloween. Not just Mischief Night, but Halloween. Mostly arson and vandalism, but sex crimes and child abuse are reported. I grit my teeth and rub my temples in anticipation of today. Is it five o'clock yet?

Francisco's signature knock greets my ears. He never uses his key except to lock the apartment. I'm so glad he always announces his arrival. I trot to the door and open it. "Trick or treat!" he bellows, grinning hugely and tackling me in a big hug. "Hi, Sasuke!"  
"Let me breathe. Okay. Hi, Francisco." Neither of us are dressed up. We walk into the kitchen. "Did you get any trick-or-treaters?"  
"Do you see a bowl of candy anywhere?"  
"Nope! That's fine. I don't like trick-or-treaters either. I prefer to eat the candy myself. Gave up trick-or-treating when I was thirteen though. Hey, wait a second, you bastard! How can you not have any candy?"  
"I don't like sweets. I never went trick-or-treating."  
"You must live a deprived lifestyle! It's better with me in it though."  
I nod. "Have you eaten yet?"  
"Yeah."  
"Feel like having dessert?"  
"Sure!"

I hand him two boxes of Godiva chocolate, one white, one milk. I have a feeling he wouldn't like dark chocolate, which is what I eat sometimes. Francisco beams. "Thanks, Sasuke!" He kisses me. "Now I'm going to get all fat. Will you still fuck me even if I gain a hundred pounds?"  
I smirk. "You never stop moving and your metabolism is incredibly high. You won't gain a pound. Yes, I'll fuck you no matter what you look like." Francisco turns serious and I feel like backing away. "Good." The seriousness disappears as he opens the white chocolates and offers me a piece. I shake my head, wondering what he's hiding. Still. Again. He shrugs and pops the piece of chocolate into his mouth, chewing with obvious pleasure.  
"Wait."  
"What?"  
"I want to fuck you one last time before you get fat and the sex changes slightly in dynamic." He bursts out laughing and nods. "Get on the table." He grins from ear to ear as he bends at the hips over the table, chest against the wood and still covered with the black cloth of his t-shirt. "This has always been a fantasy of mine, Sasuke."  
"Don't bother holding onto anything. It's been one of my fantasies for a long time too."

"The candles sure look pretty."  
Two lit candles burn faithfully on an old but sturdy plate. It is a small white plate about six inches in diameter, slightly chipped in a few spots but and its rim is slightly raised, with navy blue rings spanning it. The candles are my extent of celebrating Halloween each year. I usually only burn one. The second, this year for the first time in awhile, is for Francisco. It's my way of telling him I hope we'll stay together for at least a few more months. I've never felt that way--the wanting to stay together for more than six months—towards anyone romantically before. Francisco's favorite color is orange. Bright orange. He likes the candles. They are small, thick oval-shaped orange candles, maybe the width of a six-year-old's palm but thrice as thick. Black wax is spun in the shape of a spider's web on each candle, and strategic black lumps of wax represent a spider on each candle. The candle I have silently designated as Francisco's is burning faster than the one I have chosen to represent as mine. Both candles are about halfway burnt down by now.  
"Hey Sasuke?"  
"Yes?"  
"Do you believe in ghosts?"  
"Yes. Do you?"  
"Yeah. My grandmother turns the microwave on and off 'cause it's directly below the liquor cabinet and my grandfather makes the clock chime fifteen times at midnight."  
That makes me smile. "Were they married?"  
"No, they're from different sides of the family. She was an alcoholic which is how she died and he really liked clocks. He died of old age at eighty-nine. She died at fifty-one of severe cirrhosis."  
"Wow."  
He nods, gaze wandering again to the two small flames. "How was your day, Officer?"

I groan. "It's Detective, not Officer. And I do not like Halloween. Always lots of new domestics in the daytime and a shitload of rapes once the sun goes down. Gets worse when the moon is waning or dark." Francisco nods, interested. The candles are seemingly burning vertically, not horizontally. I want the wax to melt evenly, completely and horizontally.  
"So you work in sex crimes and child abuse."  
"And I have a smart boyfriend," I remark. Hr grins. He leans forward slightly and begins fussing with the old plate holding the candles. Pools of wax inside the candles wobble merrily. He wants to poke the soft wax near the flames, I can tell. I do it all the time when I burn candles. I place my hand on top of his and tell him so. Again, the big grin. And a slight blush. He shifts his body slightly and we cuddle closer.

He wraps his arms around my middle again and hooks his chin over my shoulder, kissing my neck. I ruffle his hair and he swats my hand away.  
"Do you think it's weird that we spend so much time together?"  
"No, you come over three nights a week and it's fine. You have a key to my apartment which also says—you matter to me a lot." I hurriedly mumble that last part as my face turns the same shade as the candles. I turn orange when I am embarrassed and pink when I am angry or sad. My sunburns, few and far between, are always an angry red, should you care to know. Francisco draws me closer. "I was hoping you'd say that," he whispers. For him, it's whispering. For me that would be talking in a slightly louder-than-normal tone of voice. We sit in sentimental silence for a full ten seconds. I am always surprised when he stays quiet for longer than three.  
"Do we have too much sex?"  
"Of course not!"

He smiles again. "Do we have enough sex?"  
I smirk and stroke his face. "Just barely."  
"I hoped so. Is it still mind-blowing, as you described a few weeks ago?"  
"Of course."  
"I love these afterglow conversations. Hurray for post-coital sentimentality!"  
"Happy Halloween, Francisco."  
"Happy Halloween, Sasuke."  
The candles burn steadily.


	17. Chapter 17

-Naruto-

"Thanks for last night."  
"Likewise. See you tonight?"  
"Absolutely," I sigh happily, then press the 'end' button on the phone.  
Rosario walks up to me and pokes my side after I place the phone in its cradle. I jump a mile in the air.  
--Fuck, Rosario!--  
--No, your girlfriend would be pretty angry. And you're not my type. Who are you cheating on her with? I had no idea you speak English!--  
--How much of that conversation did you HEAR?!-- I wail.  
--Just you saying thanks for last night and then absolutely.--  
--It's...uh, a um, figment of your imagination. YOU CAN'T TELL ANYONE OH MY GOD ROSARIO.--

She is practically bent in half laughing. --Don't worry, your secrets are safe with me.--  
She strolls away, shaking her head. I feel like I am going to faint. My voice and hands shake as I confess the events to Hinata. She shakes her head and what she says surprises me. No, 'You could have sacrificed the operation, Naruto!' but "She would have found out sooner or later."  
"So I'm okay, we're okay and the operation is fine?"  
She nods. "And if she does tell anyone, we'll just have to kill her."

--What?!—I thunder. Yelling in Spanish will not draw attention. English would. "Hinata, you know I hate that part of the job! And I'm really liking this girl, whoever she is."  
"Me, too. Be more careful."  
"Practice your Spanish some more," I grumble. I hug her anyway. Today is the beginning of week seven of the operation. Sasuke and I have been together for two months—Halloween was our two-month anniversary. The house is decorated with Dia de Los Muertos things. The ceremony and celebration will probably start at seven tonight, which is usually when we all eat dinner. Most of the time the women say dinner is at five and we wind up eating at seven. Nobody cares. We eat when we eat, celebrate when we celebrate. It matters that we do it, not at which hour. Everybody wishes everybody else a Feliz Dia de los Muertos, and we exchange candy made from pure sugar shaped like white skulls as tokens of friendship. Many of the agents have been celebrating it their whole lives, and are very comfortable because they know what's going on. Other agents, like Hinata, do not but they do a damn good job of faking it. I smile to myself, observing everyone. I like Dia de Los Muertos.

--Hi, Dadi. Happy Day of the Dead.—  
--Naruto, my baby! To you too! What are you doing?—  
--Working.—  
--Oh.—  
--How are you? I miss you.—  
--I'm fine. A little bit lonely. I miss you, too, sweetheart. Visit me when you are done with your awful job.—

I choose not to remind her that it's a steady job, which means I would never be able to visit her.  
–I will. And I'll be able to tell you about somebody I met.—  
--Wonderful!—  
--See you. I love you.—  
--Be well. I love you, too.—  
I hang up the pay phone and readjust my beanie and sunglasses. The gloves I am wearing (so as to not leave fingerprints) are thick and make the actions difficult. I head back to the gang's house, thinking about Dadi. I want her to meet Sasuke if we stay together longer than three months. I hope they like each other.

I'm so full that I think I am going to burst. Somebody offers me coffee. I drink a little bit with milk, admiring the elegantly framed photos, the lights and assorted decorations. Most of the dead being celebrated are people's grandparents and great-grandparents. There are a few sisters, brothers, cousins. One two-year-old.  
--Want some more?—  
--No, thanks.—  
Each person in every photo on the altar is explained one by one. All the stories are unique. Many of the gang members have or had family members who "inspired" them. Lots of military sergeants. That's a big clue to gang connections. I'm not trying to say that every Honduran or El Salvadorian person with a relative in those countries' militaries are automatically gang members and lying about it, but an overwhelming amount of MS-13 members have had training in those militaries or been trained by someone that training. The agents aren't congregating until tomorrow morning, so I zoom merrily over to Sauske's apartment. The apartment I have a key to. Does he want me to start moving my stuff in? I'll ask him later. Tonight I just want to be with him.

"Happy Day of the Dead," he greets me. I wrap him in my arms. "To you, too." He shuts and locks the door behind us and is all over me right away. "Hey, slow down for a bit," I chuckle. He stops and stares at me. I feel like…he never just looks at me, it's always a stare. I think deep, intense brown eyes will do that. I have contact-tinted dark brown eyes now. They are nothing like Sasuke's. I miss being able to wear my natural eye color (that sounds weird). I miss looking at my blue eyes in the mirror. This operation will be over soon and I can go back to being my old self.

"Francisco."  
"Huh."  
"What's your vocation?"  
"Navy SEAL," I lie automatically.  
He nods. "Can I go back to what I was doing?"  
I press my body against his and we play tonsil hockey. He pauses to give me a hard love bite.  
"When I—when I leave my girlfriend, we—can do this every day," I pant.  
"We'd get tired."  
"Ohh…harder…"  
"But two orgasms a week are plenty for a person's sexual needs."  
"Not—YES—not everybody has that low of a sex drive—OW!" He bites my neck harder than I like. "You're really leaving your girlfriend?" He looks so damn hot when his face is flushed with lust. I want him to fuck me over and over again. "Yeah. The only reason I'm with her is so nobody will realize I'm gay." He mumbles something and his hands do amazing things. I let him know he's making me happy.

I'm sorry I (had to?) lied to him. "Sasuke! Keep doing that! Oh!"  
"When?"  
"When what?" I'm not thinking with my mind.  
"When are you leaving her?" he demands.  
"Whenever you want," I hear myself say. "Wait, I mean!"  
He kisses me and bites my tongue to encourage my silence. "You have two days, Francisco." His breath is hot against my ear. I shudder in pleasure. "Leave her and start moving your stuff into here."  
"Anything for you, Sasuke." Damn me. I wish I could control what I say during amazing sex. He smirks and lowers his head. I come. "Good boy."


	18. Chapter 18

-Sasuke-

Three different cases are finally solved and closed. I fill out paperwork for the others. Every day that I avoid a cold case, I am thankful. They all go cold for the same reason…besides, there's probably an entire squad dedicated to solving them.

Have I mentioned I'm not a morning person?

"Uchiha."  
"The sex no longer makes up for it."  
"Talk to me."  
Hatake slides a note across my desk as I listen carefully to Gaara. Lee left him for undisclosed reasons but he's willing to go to couple's counseling after they've been apart for a week. Sleeping alone feels weird. How am I? "Fine…Francisco's moving in soon."  
"Congratulations," he grumbles. "Get back to work."  
"I'll call you on my break."  
"Cool."  
I read the note. I've been working too hard and I should take time off, Hatake thinks. I walk into his office and we agree that I will take a week off. Not sure which week, but a week. Soledad went undercover to be in a gang for police purposes, a fact likes to come back and haunt me sometimes. She has everything she needs. She should be back soon. I am excused. Some cases are red-hot. Others are stalling and waiting to turn blue-cold. I work to revive the almost blue-cold cases. Progress.

Noon.  
I take my lunch. Gaara's voice is flat. He does not cry. His voice and words express, however, how betrayed he feels. He gives few details. I listen. Silence. Pondering. "Kill a few rats. That should get you through the day." I can practically see his eyes light up at the mention of his hobby. He always says something wise-ass after I mention his hobby. This time is no exception. "Oh, what a fine upstanding upholder of the law you are…telling a civilian across state lines to commit a crime." That's him. Even though his boyfriend of five years left him a few days ago. I shake my head. "Okay," he sighs. "You are always welcome here, Sasuke. I will always have the money to take you for pizza."  
"And I will always have an appetite for real Brooklyn-style pizza."  
A comfortable silence.  
"It will always rain here for you."  
"I hope so."  
I hold the phone away from my ear so he can hear the patter. Minutes later, we hang up and I do what I do five days a week, eight hours a day not including the overtime that is so common. Umino helps me. So does Hatake. Then we wait. False leads stream in. And we wait. I clock out. So do they.

Tomorrow will be more waiting. It's always like that.

I hand him the money. He counts it, or he seems to be counting it. His eyes are hidden behind sunglasses even though the sky is the indigo of deep night. I wait patiently, and moan as the drug enters my blood.  
"How come you asked for more than usual?"  
"'Cause I wanted it," I moan. Ooh, I feel good. Even better than I do when I'm fucking Francisco, or just kissing him or…not by much though…I really like being with him. And I met him when I was high…we had sex when my high was wearing off, only to be replaced with a different, more organic high. Francisco…has a key to my apartment. Soon to be ours. I can't go home now. High. Fuck. He'll fucking turn me in! My own boyfriend, my own submissive! No. I can't let him do that. Can't let him ruin my life, everything I've worked for. It's not my fault I do meth. I don't ingest it. I snort it. I've only been doing it for four months. I eat the crystals. If I give meth up I'll just have to get a lot of nose and mouth work done.  
"I'll try to come here more often. I know I haven't sought you out in awhile," I ramble to my dealer. He smiles. "Sure." Maybe a few skin grafts to the roof of my mouth. Not yet. I'm not at that stage yet. I need this feeling more…

I start snorting less meth at once but I buy it multiple times a day. Two turns into three in the span of a week. Francisco has brought some things over, telling me that when his assignment ends he'll move in completely. I ask him if he's ever physical with his girlfriend. He says no. We have sex two days a week, three times a day. I snort the crystal meth three times a day, every day. Another week passes. Francisco and I start to argue. I shout a lot. He always apologizes and yells back when I shout. He's going to find out about my habit. I write about this on my LJ. Everybody tells me to go to N.A., and I am so frustrated by that, that I delete my journal for three days. Nobody except my dealer and the people on LJ know of my habit besides me and it better stay that way. Nobody knows about my tagging, either. I keep that to myself and hide the spray paint cans in a new location every time. Another week passes. My cravings continue to intensify. I tag more. I take more risks. Somehow, my work performance improves greatly. I lie to Francisco, which won't do anything good.

He matters to me…this is bad.

"Uchiha."  
"Come home, right now," his voice shakes with anger and betrayal. I resist the urge to bang my head on my desk. "How did you find this number?" I try to stall the coming explosion. "Come home and I will tell you everything if you tell me everything." I agree. Hatake tells me to take the entire week off—I told him I'm having problems with my boyfriend, and he gives me a week off. Suggests it. I stubbornly argue three. He says okay.  
I have three days to deal with Francisco…myself…everything. I need to keep my job. I hope I do.  
I hate this already.


	19. Chapter 19

I do not own Krylon or American Accent spray paints, I just stock them every weekday at my job.

-Naruto-

-Earlier that day-  
I don't clean much. It's Sasuke who's the neat freak. But I had ramen stashed away—he's also a health food nut—and I want to eat it. I don't remember where I hid it, and Dadi told me that if I clean, I will find what I am looking for faster. There's not much to clean, so I organize. Sort of. He's so meticulous. I move stuff around and put it back exactly where I find it. I get to the bedroom, shuffle over to the desk in the corner and begin rifling through drawers. Pencils, looseleaf lined paper, highlighters, paper clips, binder clips, yellow legal pads, a dark blue cover spiral-bound notebook, ballpoint gel pens that write more strongly than normal pens and don't pretend to run out of ink, erasers, stationary, rubber stamps, boxes of small white envelopes (he has pen pals) and big yellow manila envelopes. I reach for the bottom drawers. The left one is stacked with neatly folded cavas bags. He and I use them when we go grocery shopping. I closer the drawer a little harder than usual and hear the rattle of…spray paint aerosol cans. I open the drawer again, hurriedly, and they rattle insistently. I dig through the drawer, flinging the bags around. A black beanie cap—the one he was wearing the night we met—tries to hide the cans. I toss it onto the floor as well. Krylon paint. Flat black. Glossy black. Glossy white. American Accent indigo blue. American Accent iris blue. American accent various shades of purple and blue. Twelve cans in all. He tags. It's the only thing that makes sense for the situation.

I yank open the other drawer after carefully replacing the bags and cap. The second is horrifying and I want to deny what I am seeing. Old spoons that claim to be stainless steel are rusted over and have suspicious stains on them. Blood-stained rags. Lighters with fluid in various stages of emptiness. Pale beige foundation—makeup to hide the sores. He probably started eating meth from the spoon like some people eat ice cream. I shudder. No needles, no antifreeze or glue. He's not cooking but he's using. No rolled-up dollar bills or bits of paper, so he doesn't snort. Why the nosebleeds then? I mean, it might not be nosebleeds but I think it is. It's undoubtedly meth. I can tell by the smell—I've had to go into meth labs before for raids, to interpret, whatever.

I've lost my apetite. I just can't believe Sasuke. Or myself. Or anything. I scramble for the telephone in the kitchen. It sits placidly in its cradle.  
--Hello.—  
--Rosario.—  
--Hi, Francisco!—  
--Your boyfriend's a cop, right?—  
--Yeah.—  
--Does he know the number for the Sexual Assault and Child Abuse Unit? Did he tell you?—  
--It's…--  
--Thank you so much.—I am nearly breathless. Anxiously, I dial the squad. "This is FBI agent badge number 2908. I need to be transferred to sex crimes detective Sasuke Uchiha." Sasuke picks up shortly. "Uchiha."  
"Come home right now."  
"How did you get this number?"  
"Come home and I will tell you everything if you tell me everything."  
"I'm on my way," he sighs, already exasperated.  
Damn this all.

-Current time-  
I open the door and start talking right away.  
"You'll need to sit down for this. Listen. Don't judge me. I'm sorry for lying, but I am telling the truth now. I am being the honest one first. My name isn't Francisco, I'm not a Navy SEAL, my hair is not black and my eyes are not brown. I work for the FBI as a Special Agent Linguist. It's hair dye and tinted contacts. You and I both know why and if you tell anyone I'll have to kill you. My legal name is Naruto Uzumaki, I'm a natural blond—check out my arm hair and leg hair—and my eyes are naturally blue. The only reason I shave my pubic hair is that it's too much of a hassle to dye. I'm really Peruvian, and as I said before, Japanese-Peruvians are common. My scars are real. I got them during an interrogation during which the suspect became violent. I'm adpoted. Never knew my birth parents. They fled to America, where I was born, then they left me in adoptive care—Dadi's my mom—and went back to Peru, where they were killed by the Shining Path. My skin really is this color of brown. I really am Latino. I'm gay and out to my family but not at work and it's going to stay that way. Any questions?"  
I pause for breath. Sasuke blinks and stays quiet, digesting the information. "Sit near me," he finally speaks. I do. "Closer. Good." Silence. I supress the desire to fidget. Silence. I rub the back of my neck. Sasuke takes my hand. Or eye contact is unwavering. "Why didn't you tell me before?" he murmurs. "I couldn't," I whisper. "I wanted to."  
"Did you kill the suspect?"  
"I had to. It was self-defense."  
All Sasuke can do is shake his head. I don't blame him.

Sasuke leans further back into the couch and closes his eyes. He takes my arm, looks at it carefully and nods, then releases it. I've never seen him fidget. Oh, he's hesitating to tell me something. I 'harrumph' internally then scold myself for being such an asshole. At least he's going to talk or at least he's acting like it.  
"I don't want you to turn me in—"  
I remember the times he's come home high—  
"but I'll understand if you do—"  
and tossed things around, screaming—  
"It's fine if we break up—no, I'd be devastated but I mean—"  
The sex was so rough and I felt terrible afterward—  
"I've never had anyone move in with me, much less after two months—"  
Am I codependant? I was in denial for a long time. "Please, don't leave me," I beg.  
Sasuke is crying. I'm crying.  
"Don't turn me in," he whispers desperately. "I use meth. And I really need it."


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: I do not own Narcotics Anonymous, nor have I ever used their services. This chapter is not complete. 'Corazon' is literally Spanish for 'heart,' but if one person says it to a loved one, it also means 'sweetheart.' There's a lot of time-jumps in this chapter. They're a few hours apart at most. Again, LiveJournal is mentioned in this chapter and other chapters. I do not own LiveJournal, or anything related to this story for that matter, nor do I gain profit from it.

-Naruto-  
"Are you an addict?"  
Sasuke's eyes dart around the room at that, and he twiddles his fingers. He avoids the question, which means 'Yes!' or he doesn't know. Or he won't admit it. I just never imagined this. "Will you go through N.A. anyway?" The carotid artery in his neck jumps. I'm making him very nervous. Or he needs his fix. I'm thinking both. "Talk to me, corazon." He breathes irregularly and tries to still his breathing. "Working in law enforcement is stressful. You know this. I watched others become alcoholics or continue their habits, and I swore to myself I'd never be like them. There's so much misery in the world...sometimes I think it's all here in Seattle. People are so mean to each other. I had to find a way to cope. Counseling wouldn't work. Sex wasn't enough. I saw a dealer on the street one night and was so depressed, for six months. I just wanted to feel better. Now I am having trouble if not already dependent." There is so much left unsaid.  
"Why do you tag?"  
His eyes widen.  
"I looked through this apartment and in your desk when I was trying to find ramen I stashed away..."  
"What are you, a spy?! You told me you work for the FBI!"  
"I do! I am not a spy! I just wanted ramen!"  
"You moron," is the grumble.  
"Answer my question."  
"It's an outlet. The first time I did it was to celebrate my entry into the force."  
"Is your drug use and tagging emotionally connected?"  
Sasuke nods. "One after the other."

I have no idea what to do with his confessions. I'd have to see him do the things to report him I think...I could just be trying to protect him. That's very common. I mull over some options in my head for a few seconds. We all know I'm impulsive and not one to think things through. You especially know this. "Here's what we're going to do--we're both going to get tested for STDs and HIV--shut up, Sasuke! Then you're going to dispose of your spray cans. Give them to someone for all I care. You'll go through N.A. and you will never, ever tag or do drugs again. Learn a new way to cope--my way is sex or videogames. Now Sasuke, I know the statistics on meth users. Only six percent stay sober even intermittently, and even they find another addiction usually. You will be part of that six percent. Use a legal, ethical addiction. Okay?"  
He nods numbly. I'm surprised at myself for being so dominant, for taking charge with Sasuke like that. He is too. "I'm going to make dinner," I explain softly. I hug him tightly and he kisses me. I go into the kitchen.

I fidget. We're checking in with Tsunade. I'm hungry and really want this to go quickly! There is a cup of instant ramen carefully hidden in my locker, which is also near the room with the thermos of boiling water…it's always done after three minutes, but I can rarely wait that long. Two minutes and I'm gobbling down crunchy, wet ramen and slurping hot broth. Ooh, wonderfully salty ramen. "Uzumaki?"  
"Huh—uh, yeah, Hinata's pretty much told you everything!" I grin. Tsunade scowls and I know she's thinking about the jug of bourbon she has stashed in her office.  
"Tsunade?"  
"Yes?"  
"We've already conducted raids as an organization. As an operation, why are we out there?"  
"Finishing touches, Uzumaki," she responds breezily. "That's why you're only in there for three months. We all know full-scale raids last about a year, and this isn't one."  
"A month left to go," Hinata smiles. Only I hear what she is saying, and I grin. We're ready to be done already. After this operation is over, I'll take some vacation time and sick leave. They don't roll over, so I have to use them all by the end of the year. The first thing I'll do is eat ramen cup after ramen cup, then sushi and chocolate…I'll buy Sasuke a bunch of tomatoes too, he likes them…then I'll play videogames for hours and holler and shout and cause mayhem.  
"Uzumaki?"  
"Sorry. I haven't been sleeping well."

"Naruto?" Sasuke mumbles sleepily.  
"Huh?" I yawn, curling up to him. He mumbles a word that sounds like "nothing" and rolls over. I inhale and exhale deeply, falling asleep again. Sasuke's been saying my name in his sleep more and more often. I wonder why.

Username  
I poke at the keys, entering the information.  
Password  
I poke at different keys, entering more information. I click on the 'post entry' function and type.

-I'm so stressed out right now. Believe it! You may ask yourselves, what can the great Uzumaki Naruto have to worry about? And in any case, ramen can make it better! Sadly, ramen can only slightly improve my mood (oh desired loveliness). I just ate ramen anyway! I only have thirteen cups stashed in assorted hiding places. Actually, nine are by now. I have to buy more immediately—nine is a small number! The stress is terrible! Work, taxes, health insurance, bills, work (and did I mention work?). I never update this things, just ramble on it occasionally. Sorry. Work stress, everything stress, stress-stress-stress. Sasuke started treatment. I'm crawling off the walls in stress. He's my new boyfriend, by the way. We're serious. Living together and everything, but nothing legal yet. It happened fast. He has a drug habit that recently became an addiction but yeah, he started treatment a week ago. N.A. and all that. I want more ramen.-

Click. I update the journal maybe four times a year. Sasuke updates his every day, sometimes multiple times a day. Sometimes he leaves it for weeks though. We both have free accounts, so no money is being wasted. Money. Insurance. Ugh. I'll think of ramen instead.  
Sasuke grunts loudly in anger at me. He's lying on his abdomen, face tucked into the pillow on his—our—bed. "Don't barge in here while I'm sleeping after treatment, idiot!" he raises his head enough to growl. Once the final syllable leaves his mouth, his face is snuggled back into the pillow. I glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. "It's five o'clock in the afternoon!" He responds with loud, angry mumbles and draws the blankets tighter around him. Oh, the beginning of going cold turkey…it'll be hell but we have to get through it.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Sorry for all the time jumps in the last chapter; it was probably very confusing. I don't plan on doing it in this chapter. I do not own the Elliot Bay bar referred to in this chapter, nor have I ever been there considering I don't drink. I've heard the beer is shitty, which is why I put that in there. There are three instances of dating violence (assault category) in this chapter. They occur at the end. Naruto is punched, Sasuke is shoved into a wall repeatedly so that he bleeds and Naruto stomps on his foot.

"Sasuke!"  
Loud, irritated grumble.  
"Stop tossing and turning so much! You're making it really hard for me to sleep!"  
"Well, how do you think I feel?"  
"I have no idea! I don't live inside your head!"  
"Dumb blond."  
He kicks me.  
"I'd scream spousal abuse if we had a legal relationship."  
"You bastard."  
"Moron, this is rough for me. Recovering isn't easy and don't I get any credit? I haven't gone down that street since last time I did meth, and I won't be again!"  
Naruto runs a hand through his hair and exhales forcefully. "It must be hell for you."  
"You have no idea."

The alarm buzzes loudly, annoying, hours later. I entangle myself in the bedcovers and curse furiously, kicking Naruto hard a couple of times as I fight to disentangle myself. I fall painfully on my side and turn the alarm off forcefully, striking it so hard that it falls to the floor. This makes me yell louder. Naruto puts the pillow over his head and burrows under the covers Last night before we went to bed; I worried out loud for hours about losing my job. The night before, I started to hallucinate. I was also suicidal, not eating, had no energy and didn't want to go to work, at all, for three weeks, and this happened four weeks ago. These are all crystal methamphetamine withdrawal symptoms. They've been going on for a month even though I've physically detoxed. N.A. is helping me detox psychologically, but it's a challenge. Through this all, I've gone to work every day and functioned as a decent member of society. I want this all to be over. I want to be normal again.  
Two weeks pass.

Iruka hugs Kakashi and strides away. It's his last day here for awhile since we're headed to trial. Soledad will be back at her desk on Monday. Everything is back to normal—even better because Naruto and I are still dating. I learned last night that he's been dying his hair with black styling glue or something fancy like that, and it rinses out when he washes his hair. I've only seen him with black hair though. It'll be different to see him with blond hair—if we stay together that long.

My phone vibrates loudly on the nightstand. "Uchiha."  
"Let's get together for a drink if you're not busy."  
"For you, I'm never busy."  
She sighs. "That's a relief. Let's meet at Elliot Bay."  
"Are you in a bad mood, Soledad? The beer there is so shitty."  
"I'm not going there to drink, Sasuke. I'm going there to talk to you and to not be surrounded by cops or gang members."  
"See you there."

The bar is dark, damp, filled with barflies, and the atmosphere makes me uncomfortable, but no one makes me as a cop. Soledad greets me with a warm hug, and I place a hand on her shoulder. Her voice is husky. "It's good to see you. How have you been?"  
We talk for an hour and half, spending another half hour in content silence.  
"I'm happy you're doing so well, Sasuke. And I'm really happy I'll be at my desk on Monday."  
"Me too."  
A beat of silence.  
"Soledad?"  
"Huh."  
"Kakashi's gay. He's with Iruka."  
"It's about time those two got together." She smiles with her eyes. Her mouth is a firm line, as always.

A loud orange and blond blur blares through the squad room, zooming by as fast as his voice is loud. As Soledad materializes by her desk, the loud orange and blond blur stops and silences. What appears to be a silent conversation begins between them. I knock on Hatake's office door and am admitted. "Your partner's back," he remarks cheerfully, setting aside a book with a bright orange cover. I recognize the characters on the cover, bright red and written perfectly. -Icha Icha Paradise- "Yeah. It's good to have her back."  
"I think so too," Hatake glances longingly at his book before facing me and debriefing me on more cases. I walk out of his office twenty minutes later, saddled with this week's twenty cases.

Naruto pulls away from Soledad. Their body language indicates they have pulled back from a kiss. He holds her by the elbows and she stares up at him. My rage blocks out the looks on their faces—deep sadness and shock blended with anger. Soledad turns away as I punch Naruto. His head whips to the side with the force of my fist, and he falls back against my desk, regaining balance a few seconds later. I start screaming at him. This is the first time I have seen his natural hair color, and the loud orange shirt is a surprise as well. Oh, the thoughts that enter one's head when they have just been cheated on…His jeans are old and well-worn. He looks more and more ashamed as my voice increases in volume. Finally I storm out of the squad room, seething.  
There's a meeting tonight, and I don't want to miss group. It's helping me. I want to stay sober but Naruto—what he did—I have to get high. To forget what I saw and to assuage this feeling right now. I have to. I can't. No. Fuck.

"My…" I hesitate. "It's okay, Sasuke." The staff member overseeing the meeting encourages me. I glare at the floor and mumble. "I think my boyfriend cheated on me with my best friend." My ears turn pink with the admission of my homosexuality. "How did that make you feel?"  
"You're such a therapist," I grumble, then answer the question. "I wanted to get high on meth."  
"Did you?"  
"No, I promised my boyfriend I'd never even go down the street where I got the meth ever again. I've kept that promise."  
The staff member who has a background as a therapist nods. "Any input?" he addresses the group. "Sasuke's story makes me feel hopeful," someone pipes up. "If he can keep his promise to a loved one to stay sober, so can I."

I open the door to the apartment and plod silently in. The lights are on, as is the heat. Yakisoba is cooking. Naruto is home. He's in the kitchen, stirring the noodles on the griddle. My anger returns. "Naru—"  
"I ought to have you arrested for what you did. How dare you punch me, you're lucky I didn't report you to your own captain for dating violence assault!" He slams down the wooden spoon onto the counter, whirling around and shoving me into the wall. He slams me into it repeatedly as he yells. I angle my body so most of the impact is in places that can withstand the damage. "How could you do that to me, you bastard! You didn't even know the situation!" He pulls me to him, preparing to shove me again. I punch his solar plexus and kick his legs out from under him. He lands on the floor with a thud. "So talk to me. Tell me what happened."  
"It's a long story…Dinner is on the griddle. We should eat first."  
I scowl and help him up from the floor. He stomps on my foot and returns his attention to the food.

We eat in tense silence. The table is cleared, the dishwasher is loaded and the kitchen is cleaned with that same mutual, tense silence. Finally I decide to break it. "Naruto, I'm sorry for hitting you, I'm sorry for screaming at you in front of the squad."  
"Asshole, you're such a poor liar," he fumes. "I'm the fucking Special Agent In Charge of a very dangerous mission, and you think you can lie to me. You should be interrogated by the Bureau!" Whatever color there is in my skin drains rapidly. They use torture on people they don't like (which is everyone except heterosexual white males), but they call it harsh interrogation and claim it's legal. Naruto told me that.  
"You shoved me against the wall repeatedly!" I look over at it for damages to prove what happened. There's blood spatter. Oh shit. I quickly run my hand over the back of my neck and head, then find the gash.  
"Because you nearly knocked me flat on my ass!" he retorts.  
"You betrayed me," I thunder. The wound will just have to heal. It's too small for a bandage, my hair will get in the way, and it's not deep enough for stitches.  
"What?!"  
"You kissed Soledad! I consider that cheating! You know that and you also know how important she is to me! She's my partner!"  
"That's not at all what happened!"  
"Then what the hell happened?!"


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: This chapter contains torture, mild violence and a racial slur, plus negative attitudes towards Mexicans by the OC in this chapter. I do not share this opinion and I have never, do never and will never use a racial slur.

-Naruto-  
-Earlier that day-  
The gang member with the scar on his arm smiles as he hands over a written list, one of all the people he killed. I recognize the names of many of my civilian friends whose murders are unsolved. One of the names jumps out at me and I don't know why. Angel Gutierrez. I feel like I should know that name…who—Rosario's cop boyfriend. His name is tattooed on her lower back, surrounded by a pair of angel's wings that only go horizontally, a pair of wings in flight. It's like the topmost bit of a heart, the top half of two curves, but patterned to look like wings in flight. Directly underneath that is his name in midnight ink. I don't want to look at the list but I have to. I wish Sasuke was here with me.

"Angel Gutierrez was a cop. Why him?" Major points for asking a stupid question, Naruto. Sarcasm aside…if I have to use it as fodder for a harsh interrogation, I will. I press my lips together. It'll be the first one I initiate, and…I have never participated in one. I watch plenty. I dislike them, but I dislike gang members more. Especially ones who kill cops. I have no partner since I am an interpreter—we work alone. Hinata's joining me during the sting was a rare treat. She works solo as well.

He's talking in a self-assured drawl.

Especially if I know and adore the girlfriend of one of these dead cops.

"He's a cop and—"

--I know, MS-13 hates law enforcement and they're just so pissed off I went undercover that all they could do is cry into their beers.—  
His face transforms into an ugly scowl. –He's a fucking Mexican. You understand what it's like to be mistaken for one of those—"Ow!" From Spanish to pained English.  
--Oh, are your fingernail beds sensitive? I can rip your fingernails out so we can look at them closer.—  
He becomes pale. I had poked a needle underneath his pinky nail. Blood seeps out. Oh, gross.  
--He was doing some Colombian chick.—Scar-Arm continues desperately. I cringe. He mistakes that for prejudice and grins. Ah, the mood swings of the suspects when they're in interrogation. --She wasn't a drug dealer. She was a cop too. What a waste. With a body like that, she—"Ow!" Another thin stream of blood. Ordinarily I'd never do this…but he's so…mean. He looks betrayed, then confused as metal glints under the harsh light. --This is what we use for the first two minutes,-- I shrug. More confusion. I clarify it for him. "It's your fingernails next, chav."

He lunges out of his chair in rage at the insulting name. I grab his left hand. He howls in pain and drop back in the seat. I toss the fingernail into a corner of the room, fighting not to vomit or cry in horror at what I'm doing. Tears pour down his face. He gets to cry…lucky. I have to maintain my composure. It's so sick that I'm doing this. Even if he deserves it. –They loved each other very much,-- tears creep into my voice. --I loved my daughter. CPS took her away when I got arrested for the first time,-- he responds. I pull out another one of his fingernails. –They removed her because you kill people, pimp women and sell drugs and firearms.—I grouse. –She lived in a dangerous environment!—  
He sits in angry silence. I remain standing. It's an interrogation tactic.

–Angel never did anything to you!—  
He scowls. –He arrested me and his girlfriend called CPS.—  
--Why didn't you kill her?—  
--I never knew what she looked like.—  
--You let her join the gang.—  
--I didn't know…was that her? I thought her name was Soledad!—  
--He used an alias to protect her identity. He loved her.—  
--Her name was the last thing he said before he died.—

I pull out every single fingernail on his right hand, and the thumbnail on his left.  
--He was a cop. We hate cops.—He sobs through the pain. I press for details. He signs his statement. I pull out the rest of his fingernails. "You're going to get at least ninety-five years," I growl. "But you know and I know ninety-five doesn't mean ninety-five. I'll tell the guards to give you a Mexican Mafia cell mate with a chip on his shoulder." Already I am planning on telling Rosario—Soledad—where he is so she can beat him to death. The guards won't care.

I drive though traffic, ignoring the rules. Two black and whites are on my tail. They follow me into the station parking lot. "FBI!" I screech, flashing my shield and racing to Soledad's desk. I tell her everything, and what I want her to do to the guy. She literally collapses against me, consumed by old and new grief. I hold her in my arms. She finally pulls away from me so she can breathe. My shirt's sweaty and a little bit bloody. Now, it's completely soaked with her tears and a little bit of saliva, mucus. Not a fun scent to inhale—sweat and blood mixed, much less for fifteen solid minutes. "You have the government's approval to use lethal force against the lousy prick. One FBI agent's approval counts," I whisper in her ear. She whispers something unrepeatable back, fiercely. I can tell that she's going to do it first chance she gets. We look at each other, still holding tightly to one another.

Sasuke barrels out of nowhere at mach speed and his fist connects solidly with my jaw as Rosario—Soledad—turns away, eyes closed and tears pouring down her face. He yells and she cries. Today I forcibly removed all ten of a man's fingernails. Bile rises in my throat and tears gather in my eyes. He keeps yelling. She keeps crying. I feel like a monster. I walk out of the station and drive the unmarked back to the garage where all the other FBI cars are. I call a cab and get out at…Sasuke's and my apartment. Home? Hours pass. I have today and the weekend off. I closed a major case, put ghosts to rest and provided the idea of closure for a dear friend of mine. I should be happy. My boyfriend hates me because he misunderstood. I am crushed.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: I DO NOT OWN, NOR HAVE I EVER BEEN TO/EXPERIENCED/ETC: The Wildrose Bar, Neighbors bar, R Place bar

-Sasuke-  
I understand why Soledad's face was a mask of shock and anger. I understand why Naruto's was of deep sadness. We all hate informing people that their loved one is dead. It's called ruining someone's life. Apt. I shift slightly. The silence weighs Naruto down. Only moments ago, he launched into a long-ass monologue of what really happened. He's loquacious. Soledad and I are both blunt—we say only what is needed. Soledad…I fish my phone out of my pocket and scroll to the screen that shows me my most recent calls. For nearly a year, it was always Soledad and also my dealer Shikamaru. In the past three months, that changed to Soledad and Naruto.  
Tap.  
Tap.  
Beep.  
She answers on the first ring. "Great. I'm fucking going to become an alcoholic cop. I've already got the melancholy and addictive personality." I hesitate. I'm not impulsive, and I never hesitate. This call was impulsive.

"Do you want Naruto and I to meet you at a bar?"  
"Na—oh, Francisco. Are you two together? Why did you punch him, anyway? Nearly knocked him flat on his ass!"  
"Answer my questions and I'll answer yours."  
"Agreed. How about the Wild Rose?"  
"Any specific reason you want to go to a lesbian bar?"  
"Neighbors, then."  
"Soledad—"  
"R Place."  
"I'm not going into a gay bar!"  
"Fine," she sighs. Naruto is laughing his ass off. I grumble under my breath and exhale.  
"Let's just meet back at Elliot Bay, okay?"  
"Okay," she chirps. It's unlike her to do this. What the hell is her problem?

Same uncomfortable atmosphere, smoky bar. I continue to abstain from ordering cheap, shitty beer so the bartenders can be happy. "You look more pissed off than usual, Sasuke," Naruto remarks. He takes a sip of his beer and grimaces. Soledad and I laugh. "We warned you!" she crows. "Yeah, the beer here is shitty," he frowns in defeat. "What a waste of money."  
"So let's put out jobs on the line and inject some more drama into our lives," Soledad suggests. Naruto and I stare at her. Weird… "Where are they keeping this gang member with the scar on his arm?" Oh. Naruto gives her the name of the prison without a second thought. She never asks questions like that. We've only been partners for ten months, but I'm pretty sure I know her. If I have any suspicion she's going to do something….but she could just be making meaningless conversation…she doesn't fixate on criminals, whether they're suspects or already locked up, like this. She doesn't need to. Her closure rate is a hundred percent. She closes every case. She's a kickass detective, and I'm proud to be her partner but—"Hey Sasuke," Naruto waves his hand at me to get my attention.

"What are you daydreaming about?"  
"Uh…case closure rates. Soledad's is higher than mine."  
"What's yours?" Naruto's interested.  
"Ninety-five percent."  
"Damn," he whistles. "Mine's ninety-one, just barely. What's yours, Soledad?"  
"A hundred percent," she explains. Calm. Cool. Not bragging, but explaining. She and I try to ask Naruto questions about his role in the FBI, but he gives vague answers or the oft-repeated, "That's classified." At one point, Soledad leans back and groans. "How do you talk to this guy over dinner, Sasuke? Or are both of you too busy with work to have dinner together?" Naruto grins hugely at that. I raise an eyebrow. "We eat dinner every night and he does most of the talking. It's always about other stuff," I supply. Soledad nods and closes her eyes, reopening them to watch a brawl that has begun on the other side of the bar. Naruto and I watch with her. "It's nice to be off duty sometimes," Soledad speaks under her breath and the remark nearly disappears into the crowd. I lean forward.

"I thought he kissed you, so I hit him."  
"No…" she responds slowly, shaking her head. "Wow, Sasuke. I was crying because he told me the gang member with the scar on his arm killed Angel."  
"I realize that now."  
She nods, eyes slightly glazed over. She drank something expensive before coming here. If she's drunk, she can't lie… "Why is the penitentiary where the gang member is staying any concern of yours?"  
"Unfinished business," she looks me in the eye, unblinking, voice strong and confident.

The next few days are ones in which snowstorms repeatedly hit Seattle. Naruto stands a ruler up outside one night. In the morning, the 'eleven inch' mark of the ruler is barely showing. By Wednesday night, two inches of the compacted snow have melted. One of the rookies asks me if, since it's Christmas Eve, we get holiday pay. I tell him no, but tomorrow, yes. He nods and shuffles away with a steaming Styrofoam cup in his hands. "Have fun rescuing cars that are stuck," a detective calls to him. He scowls and walks faster. It's what beat cops have been doing for the past—week?—since the snowstorms have hit. The last time there was a foot of snow around Christmas time in Seattle was 1861. It's a hundred and forty-seven years later, and nobody is prepared to deal with it. Naruto and I are both having a lot of trouble getting to work. The snow has to melt. Summer happens every year…

Soledad sits down with a thunk. She's nervous. Not worried because she's a little bit late from her lunch hour. Agitated. Not high. "What's wrong?" someone asks her. "Nothing," she snaps. I watch as she takes a few slow, deep breaths with her eyes closed. When she reopens them, she's much more relaxed. "Do you celebrate Christmas?"  
"No. You?"  
"No. You going to be here tomorrow?"  
"Yeah. You?"  
"Yeah. The holiday pay is a plus—I can almost pretend I make a living wage." We chuckle. "And then there's New Years. Do I stay up till midnight? Skip work? Drink enough coffee to give myself a heart attack? I'm not sleeping enough anyway." She sighs. "Am I making sense?"  
"To me. I haven't been sleeping well either."  
"But then New Years will be over, it'll be January second and things'll go back to normal…eight more days, Sasuke. We can make it," her voice fades with tiredness. She's railing against the system and so tired…I am, too. Tomorrow I get holiday pay and Naruto and I will have sex tonight. Her doesn't celebrate Christmas either.

"Uchiha," I answer my phone.  
"The sex makes up for it again."  
I mumble something I hope sounds positive. "I'll call you when I'm more awake, Gaara."  
"Okay." He knows I can't talk or listen when I'm tired.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: I do not own the rights to any of Britney Spears' songs, nor do I gain profit from mentioning them.

-Naruto-  
Tsunade has a hangover. I fidget. I swear she just growled at me. I stop. "Uzumaki," she rubs her temples with long, elegant fingers. "Do you know Sasuke Uchiha?" OH SHIT. I'm sure my carotid artery is jumping. My hands shake. "I know of him," I respond carefully, beginning to sweat. My pupils are probably beginning to dilate. "In what sense?" She closes her eyes, and my breathing speeds up. "I can't believe you just asked me that," my voice rises in pitch. Don't give me that look. What is an FBI agent SUPPOSED to say when they're being informed they'll be investigated for homosexuality, or lose their job, or probably both?  
"Uzumaki, it's the 2000s. I don't care who you're sleeping with unless it affects your work."  
I barely stop myself from saying something that could get me fired.  
"Uzumaki, do you know Sasuke Uchiha?" she repeats.  
For some reason, the lyrics to Britney Spears' song Everytime start in my head.

"The sooner you answer the questions, the sooner we can leave," she sighs, exasperated.  
"Yes."  
"Are you sleeping with him?"  
"Am I being fired?"  
"I'm not firing you! If your Top Secret Security Clearance credentials are even poked at, I will fight for you. You're the best Special Agent Linguist the FBI has. I'm asking you these so I won't have to investigate you."  
These questions are informal.  
Tsunade hates having to investigate her own agents.

"Yes," I admit slowly, reluctantly.  
"Do you live together?"  
"Yeah."  
"His apartment?"  
"Yeah."  
"Are you aware he's a detective for the Seattle Police Department for the Rainier Beach squad?"  
"Yes, he works sex crimes. His closure rate is ninety-five percent." Pride embraces my voice. Tsunade nods in a way that makes me realize, oh shit, you people investigated my boyfriend.

"Do you two ever talk about work?"  
"No. Neither of us can stand the thought of what the other one does," I admit honestly. I don't know how the hell he listens to accounts of rape at work and goes back the next day, and he doesn't know how the hell I watch people get—harshly interrogated—every day at work, and go back the next day.  
"In which instance could your relationship with Detective Uchiha interfere with your work?"  
"It wouldn't. I'd take myself off the case if he got involved."  
"How long have you two been together?"  
I squirm. My breathing has slowed to a little faster than normal, my heart isn't beating so hard, and I think my pupils are normal. I'm still uncomfortable.

Tsunade glares at me.  
"I don't know!" I yell.  
She crosses her arms over her ample bosom. "Does the name Soledad Reyes mean anything?"  
"Loneliness (or Solitude) Kings. And it's not pronounced Soul-dad, it's S-oh-lay-dawd, only faster and sexier-sounding."  
She stares at me. "Let me rephrase the question, Uzumaki. Do you know Soledad Reyes?"  
"Yes."  
"How?"  
"She worked with Hinata and I on the MS-13 finishing touches case."  
"Do you know who she is?"  
"Sasuke's partner…her undercover alias in the operation was Rosario Septiembre de Jesus."  
"Were you aware of this during the investigation?"  
I stare at her blankly. "No."  
"When did you become aware of this?"  
"Three days after the investigation officially closed."

Tsunade's gaze is harsh and critical. "Did you tell Detective Reyes where Eusebio Suarez was being held?"  
"Who?"  
"One of the MS-13 members. He has a scar on his arm."  
"Oh, him. Yes." I know better than to ask questions I have. She's asking me hers, and I am answering them in hopes I will keep my job and image. "An agent was at the bar, and he recorded the conversation. I wanted to hear it from you first. The FBI and SPD haven't handled this well." Her gaze is unwavering. I stay silent, resisting the urge to fidget. "But you, Hinata, and Soledad all did your jobs. Terrifically, I might add."  
"Thank you."  
Tsunade exhales heavily.

"Agent Uzumaki."  
"Yes, Director."

"You're free to go."  
"Thank you, Director."

"Naruto, you're not eating and you've spoken much more quietly than usual all night. What's wrong?"  
"Uhmwasinterrogatednwork—"  
"Speak so I can understand you," he huffs.  
"I was interrogated at work."  
"What?!" he shrieks in horror.  
"Are you using again?" I shout.  
"Pardon my shriek of horror at finding out you had your fingernails ripped out or some other horror, Naruto," he yells. I wave my hands in front of his face. "That didn't happen! Nothing happened! I answered questions is all." Sasuke finishes eating the food on his plate, staring expectantly at me the entire time. "I'm not going to repeat anything," I inform him stubbornly. To prove my point, I finish my food enthusiastically.

He raises an eyebrow, grunts softly, and helps me clear the table and load the dishwasher.  
"I'm not using. I'm on the eleventh step in N.A."  
"Congratulations."  
I kiss him. "We'll celebrate when you finish the program." He smiles and drapes his arms around me. His smile is a rare treasure. I always smile back.

The bed sheets are fresh and clean. I love the feeling of fresh and clean sheets.  
"Naruto."  
"Oh, Sasuke, what?"  
"Nothing," he whispers after too long.  
I yank the pillow from underneath his head, holding tight to mine, and smack him in the face with it.

A wrestling match—scuffle, maybe—type-thing ensues. We mostly roll out of bed, onto the floor and trade punches and kicks. And insults. "It's been too long," my boyfriend's breath catches as I jam my fist into his solar plexus. "What?" I wait for him to catch his breath. "We spent too much time in this relationship being nice to each other."  
"That almost sounded very effeminate."  
"I'd knee you in the balls if I wasn't planning on doing something else with them tonight," he growls, biting my ear. "Ow! Okay, sorry," I respond quickly, rubbing my ear. He sits up suddenly and I cling to him so I won't fall over.

"Hey, Naruto."  
"Hey Sasuke."  
"I love you."  
I tilt my head. "I love you, too."


	25. Chapter 25

-Sasuke-

"You've never asked for it this way," Shikamaru regards me skeptically.  
"Just shove the goddamn needle into my arm!" I roar. He tucks the cash into his pocket and turns my arm over. "You have small veins."  
"Yeah. They're rollaway veins too. Use my hand. There's one that goes toward the knuckle of my left ring finger." He nods, finds it and jabs me. I snarl as tears of pain spring from my eyes. "Give me more," I growl. "I have the cash. I have to make up for lost time."  
"Same needle?" he asks.  
"Whatever you want!" I shout in frustration.  
"Wrong answer." Naruto is behind Shikamaru. His face is solemn, grave. Slush squishes underneath his sneakers. Shikamaru moves quickly out of the path of the squealing taxi. What the hell? Naruto and I aren't so lucky.

THUD.

"—ing, but people can hear when they're in coma." A shaky, feminine voice with a heavy Spanish tinge. Shaky breathing. "It's been a week, Sasuke. You have to wake up. You can't leave me like Angel did." Soledad. Give me your hand. I'm awake. Can't you tell? And what happened with the taxi? It was green and I remember the license plate perfectly. The driver slid on a patch of ice. It was an accident. Don't charge the driver with attempted vehicular homicide… "Hatake's been here, and Umino…I've been here every day." She lists off other officers we've both worked with or talked to during my time on the force. I must be important. I can't move—my hands. My hands can help me. I don't know American Sign Language.

A cold, gentle, smooth small hand grasps mine firmly. The machines beep louder. Ugh, the…medical…smell of a hospital. "You know the drill—once for yes, et cetera." I squeeze her hand. "How long have you been awake?"  
I'd frown if I could. I squeeze twice. "Oh, sorry. Uh, did you wake up today?" Once. "Was I here?" Once. "Is this the first time?" Once.  
"Okay. The paramedics brought you and Naruto in a week ago. Your drug dealer called the ambulance but was arrested anyway. The taxi driver slipped on ice. The taxi, I mean. Do you want me to ask the A.D.A to give your dealer a reduced sentence since he called the ambulance?"  
Once.

"I'll see what I can do." She stops talking. I tighten my grip on her cold, small hand. "Naruto was flung over the windshield of the car. His jaw was broken so badly, it had to be wired shut. He has big bruises and is limping, but he's healing quickly. He refused crutches…he's been here as often as I have, and he's just as worried." The machines beep steadily. "Sasuke…" What? She makes a noise in her throat. "You took most of the impact. Your body flew into the air and slammed onto the car's roof and windshield upside-down. Your legs are bruised, your sacrum and tailbone are fractured, you bled internally and…don't be surprised by the bruises on your torso…and your arms. Your left hand has an oval bruise that's a handsome shade of pirate green. Originally, it was indigo. Was that from the needle?" Once. Slow. Shame.  
"Okay. Your arms are bruised and have surgical incisions because glass was removed. Your head—"

Don't stop, Soledad. I need to know. Am I going to be okay?  
"You suffered—well—I should tell the doctors—ow!" I grip her hand tightly and feel her knuckle pop. Then I feel her cell phone vibrate. Don't leave me. I just want to know what's wrong in my head. What's in my throat? What's in my mouth? My arms—oh, this doesn't feel good. I fall asleep again.  
"He's waking up! I knew he would. And I can talk to him now that the wire was removed! Soledad! This means his condition isn't critical anymore!"  
What?!  
"They're going to take him off life support now!"  
"Not if you don't shut up. You're scaring him. Look at the machines," my best friend growls at my boyfriend as several people rush into the room. They say things that doctors and nurses say, and do things that doctors and nurses do. It's such an unpleasant experience. I can feel every part of it and I'm glad I can't see it.

Light. Bright light. No machines—there they are. I close my eyes and open them. I repeat these actions slowly and multiple times, trying to fully adjust to my new surroundings. "Oh, don't touch your head!" a nurse chirps nervously. "My head. Soledad, I fell asleep before you told me about my head…my brain. Am I okay?" Raspy whispering. I must be thirsty. She smiles a watery smile. Naruto immediately reacts. "You smiled! Oh my—"  
"Shut up, you're ruining it for me," I snap. Rasp, rather. Soledad laughs through her tears. "You remember. You were wide awake." Hiccuping sobs. "I was squeezing her hand," I explain to Naruto. A doctor pushes a Dixie cup of water at me. Soledad, Naruto and I stare at her blankly. "They're used to Styrofoam cups of steaming coffee." A blond woman with the largest breasts I've ever seen explains our confusion to the doctor. "We call it sludge," Hatake offers. The blond woman grins. "We call ours tar."  
"Sasuke, you have staples in your head," Soledad finally tells me.

The—bed, I guess—I'm lying in is adjusted so I'm sitting up. Tubes and cords are taken away. The next day, the staples holding part of my head together are removed. A few days later, after the bandages are removed from my head, I am discharged from the hospital. I call Soledad and she drives me home. She and Naruto spend the weekend looking after me, fussing over my predisposition to become addicted to the white horse pills. Not the antibiotics, though. Just the Percodan. It's a very potent painkiller.

I don't become addicted to the painkillers. I start smoking. Soledad starts drinking and stops. I learn that the blond woman is the director of the FBI and the reason she was outside my hospital room is she was looking for Naruto. He's highly prized by his work. Soledad and I are by ours. Hatake and Umino enter into a domestic partnership. Soledad smiles a lot now. Naruto and I also enter into a domestic partnership. I meet Naruto's mother, Dadi, and forget until that moment that he's adopted.

I know you want me to say Naruto and I stay together till we're ninety-five and have old people sex, but that hasn't happened yet. We're only twenty-eight. We've got our whole lives ahead of us.


End file.
